


How to Claim Your Dragon(born)

by afterandalasia



Series: "Salvaging the Balloon" [1]
Category: Oxventure (Web Series)
Genre: Andy Farrant are you happy now, Canadian Shack, Canon Compliant, Canon Nonbinary Character, Gethian Shack but you get the picture, Hurt Shattershield (Oxventure), Hurt/Comfort, It feels a little mean to Shattershield to tag it with that but he is noticeably nonhuman, M/NB, Monsterfucking, No Dysphoria, Non-Human Genitalia, OTW Staffers are Immoral Support, Order of the Dragon D'Or (Oxventure), Other, Post-Episode: s03 Gnome Alone, Snowed In, Strength Kink, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, size difference kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: "So Max and Shattershield have gone to... salvage the balloon...""Isthatwhat they're calling it?!"Max and Shattershield get snowed in while trying to get down the other side of the mountain from the Oxventurers. Tropes ensue.
Relationships: Shattershield/Max Williams (Oxventure)
Series: "Salvaging the Balloon" [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106963
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic. Oh my god, y'all, this fic.
> 
> I started joking about writing Max/Shattershield back when I first watched _Fast and Furriest_ in November (I'm a recent convert and was still catching up). Then as part of my job as a tag wrangler I found myself making a new fandom for "Lustful Desires", a video game where you basically get to have sex with all of the fantasy peoples of a world that totally isn't D&D, nosirree, not at all, never mind the big muscular dragonmen we've got all over the ads. And _then_ , just a day later, I opened my reddit to find myself faced with [sexy gold dragonborn](https://www.reddit.com/r/characterdrawing/comments/julve1/rf_adrex_dragonborn_cleric_of_swole_for_uluna) art in CharacterDrawing and y'all, I figured I was just plain haunted.
> 
> I put off the inevitable for another couple of weeks, but then began writing on December 1st. On December 2nd, I scrapped most of my one thousand words and started over, thinking that perhaps this fic would be about 5-10k long.
> 
> Yeah, as you can see, that totally happened.
> 
> (ETA: For anyone who wants to check a quick note about genitalia and language as pertaining to the canon nonbinary character Max, see the beginning of chapter two. There's no explicit sexual content prior to that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, some quick notes regarding character builds for Max and Shattershield.
> 
> I've put Max at level five (two attacks against the Mind Flayer, but no Aura of Protection to boost the saving throws of the others*), [Oath of the Crown](https://www.dndbeyond.com/classes/paladin#OathoftheCrown), and honestly I'm shit awful at backgrounds so I have no idea. From Johnny's description they sound pretty dexadin (a paladin that uses Dexterity instead of Strength). For the purposes of namedropping a god, I decided to use one from canon rather than create a new one, and Deneir (LN, Knowledge Domain, god of writing) fit the best I could find.
> 
> Shattershield, heaven only knows, but he has to be higher than Egbert so I've put him at level nine (or higher) because the spells it unlocks makes life a lot easier. Dragon D'Or seem pretty classic [Oath of Devotion](https://www.dndbeyond.com/classes/paladin#OathofDevotion) paladins, and the easiest way to link them to canon theology is to presume that they revere the golden dragons that serve Bahamut and seek to form themselves in their images.
> 
> Spells we'll see are, from easiest to strongest: Command (1st level), Cure Wounds (1st level), Find Steed (2nd level), Lesser Restoration (2nd level), and Create Food and Water (3rd level). That last spell wiped out most of my plotting problems because it can provide for up to fifteen people, never mind two! The food is specifically described as bland but nourishing, so in my head I pictured Huel. 
> 
> Divine spells don’t usually require learning, but seeing as the DM Johnny seems to be making magic more intensive I went for it. It also explains why level five Max doesn’t know Find Steed. For those who don't know canon so well but are here from tags or in other ways, Johnny makes injuries serious and healing much less powerful than many allow it to be - a Cure Wounds from Egbert was enough to make Shattershield's broken leg suitable to be splinted, nothing more, and certainly didn't have him back up on his feet and fighting.
> 
> *sidenote, Egbert use your sodding aura of protection

It did not surprise Max in the slightest that Captain Shattershield would take the time to perform his ritual to Find a Steed only to use it to carry the remains of the balloon. True, he did also put most of his armour onto the back of the large fae-tinged goat that answered his call, but frankly Max would have been more surprised if Shattershield _had_ put aside his pride and left behind some of the balloon’s detritus so that the creature would be able to carry him.

Although, frankly, the trails back down the side of the mountain were treacherous at best. Neither of them had much breath left for speaking, and Max found themselves having to concentrate to keep their balance on the slippery, skittering rocks.

Every so often, Shattershield would hiss between his teeth, and Max could hear that he was limping, but they had seen more than enough to know that he would not admit it. The best that they could think of to do was to slow their pace a little further and stop more frequently for water. They did not have much in the way of food that would pass for lunch, the picnic basket long since destroyed and only a few rations remaining, but there were at least springs and rills of fresh water to fill waterskins from.

All the same, they found themselves breathless, sweat trickling down the back of their neck that became uncomfortable and cold as the air started to turn chilled around them. The wind picked up, but at the very least the path widened out as it turned a corner to a broad, shallow slope covered with trees.

“Oh,” Max said. They eyed the slope and the trees, the path on which they stood fading away into the snow. “The path led…”

“The air pressure is dropping,” said Shattershield. That, Max could not speak to, but they knew deepening dark clouds when they saw them at a glance to the sky. It was darkening, they realised, to the extent that they barely had to shade their eyes. “I doubt we have much longer until the weather comes in.”

“It might be worth looking for somewhere to wait out the worst of it,” Max said. Shattershield made a sound deep in his chest, not far off a growl, and Max glanced over cautiously. “If it gets much darker, I’m not sure it would be wise to continue.”

“No, you are correct,” said Shattershield. He heaved a sigh. Max shifted half a step to the side, into his shadow, and shaded their eyes to look up at him. “We do not know how bad the weather will become. It… would be prudent to find shelter.”

As if to answer him, wind gusted past them, and Max had to narrow their eyes against the sting of it. They clenched and unclenched their fists inside their gloves, grateful they had at least bought those against the cool air they had expected during the balloon journey.

“At least this is something of an opportune place, I suppose,” he continued. “There may even be a structure of some sort already.”

There was no sign of habitation, no wisp of smoke or similar, but it was not unthinkable. There was enough open ground to roam, and it was not inaccessible from the town. Max looked at the trees around, then settled for the one that looked as if it would provide the best handholds.

“I’ll check from above,” they said. They jammed a foot to the bark and took hold of the first branch to climb. “Any structure will have some sort of clearing.”

“Wait–” Shattershield began, then caught himself with a faintly amused huff. “No, my apologies. I have had too many of my order over the years would attempt climbing while… rather unsuited to it.”

Max paused, a few branches up, and glanced down at Shattershield. Even without his plate, he still cut an imposing figure, and while Max would want to suggest one of the stronger trees around they had to admit it would be terrifying for an enemy to find that amount of dragonborn bearing down upon them. “The claws probably help,” they offered.”

This time, Shattershield genuinely chuckled. “Well, that is true. But I would still hazard most of my order against such actions.”

“I’ll be down in a moment,” said Max.

At least inside the branches of the tree, the wind was less noticeable. It was a good straight conifer, and a few carefully-placed climbing spikes were enough to get up some of the longer stretches of bare trunk. As it began to taper, and as a particularly strong gust of wind managed to rock the tree, Max hooked an arm securely around one of the branches and leaned out to get a clear view.

Or at least… as clear as they could through the snow. Apparently even the short time to climb the tree was enough for it to have started snowing in small stinging flakes, and Max grimaced as they pushed aside a branch to scan the treeline.

There was a noticeable dip, and swinging themselves up one more branch Max looked again. They were _fairly_ sure that was the edge of a rooftop they could see just in the gap of the trees which, well, it was probably the best lead they had on shelter up here. Scanning up, they noted the shape of the mountains directly behind the rooftop, and then set about retreating down the tree and pocketing the climbing spikes along the way.

They hit the ground a little harder than intended, catching themselves on the trunk as their feet slipped on the thick carpet of needles.

“I was starting to worry,” said Shattershield, from behind them. Max straightened up and looked round. “Though I realised that you were less likely than most of my order to crash your way back down.”

He looked… still amused, Max thought, though his expression was more dry. They hadn’t known many dragonborn, but Egbert’s expressions had always been broad and enthusiastic, more exaggerated than those of his companions. Shattershield was much harder to read, but Max had a suspicion that would have been the case even if he had been a human, or elf, or generally mammalian.

“There’s, uh, some sort of structure in that direction,” Max said, pointing out the same mountain ridge where it was just visible between the trees. Shattershield was still breathing quite heavily, they realised, and frowned. The cold was not so bad between the trees as it had been in the open, and he should have had a moment to rest, no matter how brief, while Max was climbing. “I couldn’t see much of it, but it’s… probably better than a cave or something. And perhaps the snow will pass quickly.”

As soon as the words had left their mouth, they winced internally. It was not that they _wanted_ to be gone from Shattershield’s company, after all, and it felt like there was a risk that the words would be taken that way. The thought of a tavern in a town, with hot food and comfortable beds, was a lot more alluring than a potentially ramshackle building in the forest, and they certainly thought that it would be better for Shattershield with his lingering injury. And frankly, after a week and more spent more than half at Shattershield’s side, the thought of being alone with him in some isolated cabin was if anything enough to put heat in Max’s cheeks.

Pushing those unhelpful thoughts aside, and hoping that the blush they could feel would be taken for the effects of the cold, they cleared their throat. “And, uh, we might be able to make more distance before nightfall. Closer to a warm meal.”

“If we are to spend more time up here,” said Shattershield, nodding for them to both begin walking again and not quite managing to hide the limp on his injured side, “then I do know a spell which may help with the food… situation. It should not take too long to recover it. It will not be particularly…” he seemed to search for a word, “ _flavoursome_ , but it will certainly do for supplies.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve eaten from that spell before. That would be – I would certainly be grateful.” Hunting or foraging in this forest, and with not much in the way of supplies, did not sound like a good idea or a fun one. It sounded like a way to lose fingers, or your life. Max did their best to keep their eyes on the horizon just visible between the branches, as the snow and the near-identical trees did their best to turn everything around. The silence, broken only by the sound of the wind, stretched out between them uncomfortably. At least, to Max it was feeling uncomfortable, and that was hardly a question they could ask of Shattershield. “I’ve sat out a snowstorm or two,” they admitted abruptly.

Shattershield glanced over, expression once again unreadable, then looked back to their path. “It’s been some years. Mistmire rarely sees snow of any depth. I don’t know if you’ve seen it at all.”

“I’ve been lucky enough to visit,” said Max. They had been caught by the tides, in the end, and spent an unexpected day in the walled city. It had been really quite beautiful, though at the time it had been frustrating that they had not been able to continue with their tasks. “I’m sure it makes for quite the paintings.”

“The citadel is known for its views. Ah–” Shattershield craned his neck as he seemed to spot something, but one glance made it clear that whatever it was, it was still out of Max’s line of sight. “It looks as if you were right about a structure being here.”

“I’m glad,” said Max.

With the right equipment, they would honestly not have worried much about the snow as it was currently falling – the horizon was still visible, and it was only setting onto areas that were already snowy. Underprepared was a different story, and though they would not make so bold as to say it aloud, Shattershield did not look to be in a fit state to be hiking for much longer as his hand tightened on the ghostly reins of the summoned goat and his limp became more pronounced for a step or two before he gathered himself again.

It had to still be worse than Max had realised, laying on of his own hands earlier that day or no. The bloodied parts of his robes did not much help the look.

The trees parted to reveal a more substantial building than Max had initially dared hope, a solid log cabin of one storey with steeply sloping roof, the snow piled against its walls suggesting it had not been used for some time. The door was mostly visible, on the side of the building facing away from the snow, and Max gave a solid knock against it out of polite habit rather than out of any real expectation that anyone would reply.

They looked round to see Shattershield giving them a look which they were pretty sure was the dragonborn equivalent of raising an eyebrow.

“It… never hurts to check.”

“I suppose,” said Shattershield. His breath was faint steam on the air as the wind made a mournful sound along the roof. “I hope it is not locked. I would rather not be forcing my way into someone’s property while following up on order business…”

An open door could be more appropriately considered an invitation to use, Max supposed, as long as they left the place in as good a shape as they found it. To their relief, the door was not locked, but it did only open a couple of inches before jamming against something or – considering how doors could be – quite possibly nothing at all. Max slid their arm into the gap, planning to push it further open, only for one clawed hand to wrap around the edge and for Shattershield to haul it open instead. His claws dug slightly into the wood of the door, but if it had not been for his low grunt Max would not have noticed anything other than the door sliding smoothly open.

They were left standing against the doorframe, now facing Shattershield, as a wave of cool but dry-smelling air rolled through the door from behind them. Shattershield was looking intently beyond them into the dark of the building itself, and Max gathered themselves enough to remember that at the very least, _one_ of them could see even in darkness.

“I’d be happy to go first,” they said, “but I think you might be able to see better.”

“It doesn’t look to have been used in a while,” said Shattershield. Even without the snow, he was bent slightly at the shoulders to peer in, and filled most of Max’s field of view. The force of his presence was tangible, and Max didn’t think that it was any sort of paladin aura that was making them feel just slightly weak around the knees. “Furniture and supplies, though. And it looks like a good woodpile.”

Mercifully, he didn’t seem to have noticed that Max was still pressed up against the frame. They blinked and took a deep breath, the cold air stinging in their nose but clarifying in their mind. “I can check for traps, if you wish.” They finally peeled themselves upright again, and looked more closely at the wooden frame. Frankly, it looked like plain hewn wood, clearly treated in some way to handle the snow, but moving back and forth across the land it never hurt to be sure. “It should only take a moment.”

“I will get the fire going, once we’re inside,” Shattershield replied. The shade of him and the sense of his presence both shifted away, and then Max heard the dulled clank of wrapped metal. “This steed will not fit through the door;” he grunted as there was another clank, and continued in a terser voice, “but I would not see this left outside.”

Refraining from looking around, Max quickly ran their eyes, and a hand, around the doorframe to confirm there were no traps present. Honestly, it did not have the _feel_ of somewhere that someone would bother to place traps on, or perhaps that was simply caution fading as they shivered in the deepening cold and the encroaching gloom.

“I think it’s clear,” they said but before Shattershield could step back quickly took one step through the door themselves, tensed to leap back at any movement in the shadows. When nothing came, they finally nodded and turned back to face the captain, who was watching with his head slightly cocked, one of the silk-wrapped bundles of brass and iron over his shoulder. “Should be good.”

Shattershield made a noise that sounded largely like assent, and waited for Max to step aside again before stooping through the doorway and slipping into the gloom beyond.

Max took another deep breath. A day at Captain Shattershield’s side in the tunnels had been… one thing. The others were more experienced fighters and adventurers but equally more inclined to argue among themselves rather than actually being of medical assistance, it seemed, and it had felt wise that _someone_ at least keep watch over Shattershield while he was unconscious or close to it. Even seeing him soften before Egbert – and gods knew it only counted as softening by those intuitive paladin standards that were probably not so obvious at all to non-paladins – and having seen his genuinely rueful reaction when he heard that Egbert was dead, well, it was not to say that counted for much. For all that Max knew, Shattershield was flatly displeased for the company he was being made to keep on his way back down the mountain.

The thought was a sharp reminder, and enough to jolt them back to their senses. With gritted teeth, Max crossed back to the patiently-waiting summoned goat and hauled free another one of the bundles of basket pieces. Putting it to their shoulder revealed promptly that it was one of the ones that Shattershield had gathered in the first place, heavier than Max would have chosen to make it, and they hissed a curse as they gripped it to their shoulder and, carefully, swung around to face the doorway once again.

They did so just in time for a rush of flame at the far end, and closed their eyes against the worst of it while the afterimages faded from their eyelids. Once the light seemed steadier again, Max cracked open an eye, and heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of a fire having immediately and strongly caught on the broad stone hearth at the far end of the cabin.

It already felt warmer by the time that they stepped inside, although they knew full well that could have all been in their head. They glanced around first just looking for where Shattershield had placed the first part of the basket, caught sight of it next to the woodpile, and hurried to add to it before caring to look at the rest of the room. Even doing their best to drop to one knee before unloading the bundle they carried, it rather crashed down, and they flinched as Shattershield froze for a moment, his back to them, then his shoulders relaxed again.

“I almost went to chastise Egbert,” he said, turning round. He reached down a hand to Max, who was still kneeling, mortified, next to the now-misshapen bundle. “Before remembering where I was. Are you injured?”

“Only my pride.” Their shoulder was unimpressed with the amount of weight they had tried to roll onto it, but that was hardly the first time they had done something so foolish. While Max had always preferred to find a way to think their way around moving large weights in one go it was unfortunately not something that other paladins shared. They accepted Shattershield’s help, hands around wrists, unable to help thinking that it would look strange were they to refuse, and were tugged effortlessly upright. It felt just as searing as it had back in the tunnels of the gnomes, heat that probably had very little at all to do with the warmer blood of all dragonborns. “Thank you.”

Shattershield clapped them on the shoulder as they reached their feet again, releasing their hand. “Let’s get everything else inside, and we can see what’s here.”

“Yes,” said Max. The wind howled overhead, door growing noticeably darker still, and they hoped for not wholly unselfish reasons that the turn of weather would not last too long. “That sounds like a plan.”

It was probably a hunting cabin, or something similar, although to be fair there were not much in the way of hunting traps. Small but sturdily built, with a couple of cupboards and chests, a table and single chair, and two empty barrels that might, once, have been meant for water. A thick check-patterned drape covered the part of the back wall behind the barrels, fastened somewhere up in the rafters that Max did not care to go looking for, giving way to the hearth, then a bed and… honestly not much else. Max quickly suggested that Shattershield see to his magic while they searched through the cupboards, and was glad to have him agree and lower himself carefully into the chair with his injured leg somewhat outstretched.

The largest chest was filled with blankets and furs, while most of the cupboards were taken up with the more easily-stored forms of food. Jars and wax-wrapped parcels met their search, along with some small packets of dried herbs that did make them snort with laughter at the idea of the usual inhabitant, bored of bland food, having bothered to bring seasoning. They set them quietly on the table beside Shattershield, who appeared to be deep in concentration and occasionally murmuring phrases with the cadence of prayers, and eyed up the thick wall hanging but doubted it would be worth the effort to get it down without damaging it. Shaking their head, Max turned back to the hearth and built up the fire some more.

The snow was melting into the outermost layers of their clothing, sticking them down until Max could almost feel the heat being leached from their skin. Their boots had at least protected their feet from the damp, but their shirt was chilly and clinging even once they had removed their cloak and it did not take experience in travelling to know what a bad idea that was.

They glanced over at Shattershield again, wondering whether or not to disturb him as they removed the memorial Egbert shirt from their bag and unrolled it. They could wait until he was done with his prayers, but – another shiver ran through them, and they shook their head, knowing they needed to change before the water soaked through their underwear and only made the situation worse.

Turning their back to Shattershield, they pulled off the shirt was quickly as they could, using a dryer corner of it to rub at some of the colder, damper parts of their arms. Their clothes otherwise still seemed fairly dry, at least. They put down the wet shirt and reached for the dry one only to hear a shift and a sharp intake of breath form Shattershield and known full _damn_ well what had just happened.

The resultant blush seemed to start in about the middle of their chest and spread upwards as Max pulled on the dry shirt, shaking hand almost missing the arm hole on first attempt before they made themselves slow down. The shirt was too large, even if it was the smallest size Corazón had been offering that had not been meant for kobolds or halflings, and hung loose over them as they looked back round again. Shattershield, perhaps mercifully, had returned to his prayers.

For lack of anywhere good to hang the shirt, Max cracked open the door of the cupboard closest to the fire and draped the wet shirt over it, then added more wood to the fire while they were close by. Another reason to excuse the blazing heat in their cheeks, they supposed, rather than the feeling that Shattershield’s eyes had been a tangible touch against their back.

Shattershield cleared his throat, and Max jumped, dropping the last piece of wood in their hands. By the time that they turned, he was in the process of getting to his feet, one hand firmly on the table, and Max hurried back across.

“I – yes, I have recovered the spell,” said Shattershield, stopping as he reached upright. He released the table, but was still clearly favouring his right side and there was a faint moment of uncertainty in his expression. “But containers are necessary. The barrel here should do well for the water and... I believe there is a cauldron in one of the corners.”

He nodded over to the far side of the chest that was full of blankets and which now had its lid propped open. Max had not even realised that there might be something in the pool of darkness on the far side of it, but on looking again could certainly see that there would be enough space there.

“I’m closer,” they said quickly, which was probably just about true, and strode quickly in that direction before Shattershield could take it upon himself to try to walk. Sure enough, there was a cast iron pot in the shadows, probably a couple of gallons in size and relatively easy to pick up one-handed and walk back over to the table. A glance confirmed that a quick sweep away of dust would be quite enough.

Shattershield turned, and Max caught the wet sound of his robes. They winced.

“Do you, uh, have any spare clothes?” They eyed the wet fabric, including at the ragged tears around his thigh. Dragonborn or not, staying in wet clothes could not be good. But Shattershield looked frankly sheepish, and looked away.

“Ah… no. I was not expecting to need them for a simple funeral balloon.”

“Well, that’s reasonable.” Even Max had not exactly bought their usual full change. They reached up to push their hair out of their face, the curls starting to reassert themselves as they dried. “I’ll get you a blanket,” they said, turning away before the realisation of Shattershield undressing could have any impact on their expression. If his… presence had its own effect, Max did not need any sort of divination magic to know that it would only be more pronounced with half of his clothes removed.

Shattershield cleared his throat uncomfortably, and there was the sound of either the chair or the table shifting against the floor. Max dragged out one of the blankets, then added a couple more on impulse and with no real idea why they would be necessary, making sure that they had an even expression before they turned back to face him again.

It would, after all, be entirely unfair to Shattershield to be acting… in a way that would make things awkward. Whether that be by Max acknowledging the simmering heat beneath their skin just from being in the same small building, or by refusing to be anywhere near Shattershield in a way that would be strange given the situation. No, continuing as normal was the most important part, even in an ill-fitting shirt and all too aware of Shattershield’s broad build as they put the blankets back down next to him.

It was not really possible for a dragonborn to look pale, but there was a drawn look to Shattershield’s face, tension in his breath. Pushing away the lingering thoughts became a lot easier as Max shook their head and let themselves feel annoyance at the pride which no paladin order demanded but which so many seemed to foster.

“In the name of your god, Captain,” said Max, frustration leaking into their voice. “Your leg will only get worse if you do not at least try to rest it. Just…” they waved towards the bed, closer to the fire and lower to the ground but luckily long enough that Shattershield _should_ be able to stretch out on it. If they were not able to move on before nightfall… Max pushed the thought aside before it could shake their determination again. “Sit down, before you injure it worse, and get out of those wet clothes.”

Shattershield opened his mouth, paused for a couple of uncertain seconds, and then closed it again. He looked utterly taken aback, and Max was painfully aware that they were probably two feet shorter than him and half as broad, but their order was independent and quite capable of overruling even captains of other orders if they were breaking some wider regulation. This was not exactly one of those moments, but Max had confronted more than one officer in their time and was not about to start backing down from them now.

With an uncertain sound, Shattershield looked Max up and done. His expression was still – it was _flustered_ , that was the only word for it, and Max wondered how long it had been since anyone had dared give him an order and whether they might have crossed a line that would succeed in making their stay here just as awkward as they had feared.

Finally, though, he cleared his throat and reached up to rub his forehead, and brought himself to meet Max’s eyes again. The air around him seemed to warm, chasing off more of the chill. “Yes. Yes, you are quite right. I… have pressed on harder today than I should have, perhaps. No, no, I can make this distance well enough,” he added quickly, as Max stepped forwards with an offer to help half-formed on their lips. “Ah – those blankets, if you would.”

Relieved, but with their heart racing, Max scooped back up the blankets and followed Shattershield over to the bed. He said down heavily, with a groan that Max could tell he was trying to muffle, and once again stretched his leg out carefully.

“I should – yes,” said Shattershield, with a certain level of finality. He had his robes pulled up in one hand, Max realised, most likely so that he would not sit on them, and peeled them upwards in their entirety rather than bothering with single pieces or layers.

Even seated, Shattershield was practically on an eye height with Max. Heat radiated off him as he pulled off the full long weight of his robes, and gods, Max hoped that they were keeping an unaffected expression as their eyes trailed across the broad expanse of his chest, defined muscles under the delicate flow of scales that grew slightly paler on the way towards his abdomen. No nipples on the smooth lines of his chest and – no, that was _not_ what Max was supposed to be noticing. There was one faint scar tracing up the left of Shattershield’s chest, a silvery slash against the gold of his scales, and a darker scarred patch on his right hip that looked more like fire or, admittedly more likely admit, acid.

Max blinked. Shattershield had his robes held in one hand, and was looking at Max with an unreadable expression that Max really hoped did not mean they had been watching for too long.

“I’ll put those over the chair for now,” said Max quickly. The words sounded more breathless than they had done after hiking for hours down the mountain, and they felt a rush of frustration at themselves for it. Shoving back their hair again, they pulled the robes out of his hands and set their attention on draping the heavy fabric over the chair where it might have a chance of drying by morning.

With rest, Shattershield would be able to summon more power for his laying on of hands, which might at least stabilise his leg enough for him to continue hiking down the mountain. Once in the village… well, it was unlikely they would have a magic-user of enough power to make use of the Teleport scroll which Shattershield was carrying, but at least they might be able to get a message to one. Even a message to Dob and Suzette, asking them to help get Shattershield back to that small house where some of his gear remained for him, would be of assistance. Max doubted that Dob had the knowledge to cast Teleport normally – they had met few of any folk, bards or otherwise, who did – but with the scroll, perhaps…

Max weighed apologising, and suggesting that the long tired had tired them out enough to lose attention and stare into the middle distance, against not mentioning their wandering gaze at all. There was a chance that Shattershield had not noticed. Neither of them had managed to get much rest the previous night, Shattershield’s time unconscious not exactly counting, and what would usually have not been much of a journey was weighing on Max’s body.

By the time that they had turned around, Shattershield had pulled one of the blankets over his shoulders, although his chest still gleamed between its folds and it did nothing to disguise the powerful lines of him.

“How is your leg?” said Max. Well, that threw all option of acknowledging their staring out of the window, they supposed, though they hoped that talking might at least make them feel less as if every breath drew the tension in the room tighter. “Is the scar still holding?”

Given the hole that the same injury had torn in Shattershield’s trousers, at least it was easy enough for Shattershield to push aside the fabric and check the wound himself with a sigh. “It appears so,” he said. He bent his knee up and then straightened it again, the movement glittering through black. “Egbert has at least been doing some study during his time with his… current companions.”

It did not sound judgemental, at least. More confused, if Max were honest, and they had to admit that Egbert’s friends had been a confusing bunch first time around and barely any less so this time.

Shattershield sighed, resting his hands on his knees. “I do need to say: thank you, Max, for accompanying me on what was supposed to be this funerary visit. I know that things have… not gone at all to plan. But it transpires that Egbert is alive, and that, after all, is a good thing.”

“I’m sorry for bringing the wrong message.” Corazón’s accusation – from him, of all people – had only raised Max’s defences the day before, but they could not help the weight of true regret. “I should have checked before I brought the message. I just knew that the customs of Dragon D’Or meant someone would need to be there quickly if it was true and…” they shook their head. “I honestly didn’t think he would be well-known enough for there to be false rumours.” No, that was unfair. “Well, incorrect rumours, perhaps.”

From what they had heard the others saying, it had been some time that Egbert had been hanging in the grey space between life and death. There were clerics and paladins who walked those paths and spoke those tongues, but Max was far from one of them.

The wind howled outside like it was doing its own mourning.

“Egbert certainly made a name for himself among our order,” said Shattershield, eyes on the floor. Even with his eyes averted, Max did their best not to take the chance to look over him again. The last thing it would be was helpful. “And he bears it still. But after what we saw, this… Lilliana, something tells me they might all have names to make for themselves.”

He sighed.

“Last time they were in Mistmire they asked after a Lilliana. At the time, I had heard only distant rumours, but I have been trying to see if there is anything more to be known. I did not have enough to bring before the Council before, but I would hope they would take my account as a witness more seriously.”

“I can speak to the Inspectors Order,” said Max. They had to say, Lilliana had certainly made an impression. “I haven’t heard of her before, but if I can state that she attacked a member of a prominent order then they should… pay attention to that.”

They both knew, and Max knew they would not have to say, that reporting an attack against Egbert would not receive anywhere near so much care. Egbert had been cast from his order, and for all that Shattershield clearly held some lingering respect and hope for him, there were enough existing paladins to worry about without being concerned with those who had been disgraced, turned away, or refused.

Shattershield gave a rumble of assent. Max ignored the way it made the hairs on the back of their neck stand on end. “That may be wise. Now,” he looked up, squaring his shoulders somewhat, and Max felt a stab of uncertainty at what he might say, or ask, next. “I believe that there was food to be considered.”

For a moment, Max could not follow at all, then managed to rewind every awkward part of their conversation and gather together the threads again. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I’m sorry I couldn’t find a picnic basket this time,” the words managed to come a little more glibly, “but I did at least find some herbs that might help with the flavouring.”

“Well, it may not be the hearty meals of the order,” said Shattershield, in the tone of an apology. Which was the last thing that Max thought was necessary when his abilities were to provide them food that was not months old from jars or somehow found from the snow-bound land outside. “But at least it will be something. If you can build the fire a little more, I will see what my god is willing to provide us with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cabin inspired by the huts and treehouses of a Swedish eco treehouse lodge place called Urnatur, which really has utterly gorgeous [pictures](https://urnatur.se/en/copy-huts-treehouses/) for me to use as reference. Just add a large amount of snow.
> 
> So, the highest strength score that you tend to get in D&D (barring magical items) is a 19 or 20, which for a Large animal equates to more or less 600lbs (just under 43 stone, or 272 kg) of carrying capacity. Which sounds like way more than should be needing! ...apart from, no, that's still at the light end of what a fucking hot air balloon would weigh. I address it in-canon in chapter four, but I've decided to presume that the in character reason for wanting to recover it is that it could otherwise be used as an "associated object" for a [teleport spell](https://www.dndbeyond.com/spells/teleport) that would turn a one in four chance of successfully teleporting to Mistmire into a 100% one. Genuinely can't risk Lilliana getting her hands on it, if she has a thing about using dragonborn as soldiers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes E-rated, so if you didn't notice that from the tags this is your final warning. :p Also the non-human genitalia tag (a warning for some and enticement for others, I'm sure) - just to confirm, it does refer to Shattershield!
> 
> I went with AFAB Max because honestly, as someone who is also an AFAB enby it matches the pattern of pronouns (including slip-ups) that have been used for them in canon, and because it allows me to presume that Max is like 5'0 (150cm for those on the metric system) to really find it all the funnier when they are bossing taller people about. Zero dysphoria on Max's part, and no references to anyone else misgendering them, because DM Johnny is a wonderful person. In terms of language, there are a few uses of the word breast (singular) but mostly it's chest; the term clit is used, and there are non-specific references to vulva ("folds" or "parting them"), but no specific term is used for the vagina (generally just "inside them".)
> 
> Max's hair is short and slightly haywire in _Faire Trial_ , and we don't get direct commentary in _Gnome Alone_ but Johnny does spend a lot of time playing with his hair while he's voicing Max that he doesn't do with his other characters. So I've gone with the presumption that Max grew their hair out some in the intervening time.
> 
> This chapter is at about the time of the first half of _Fast and Furriest_ , fwiw. I figure one side of the mountain can be clear of snow while the other is having a blizzard, screw it. This is idfic we're dealing with.

The food created by the spell was as bland as Max remembered, which made Shattershield look vaguely embarrassed even as Max did their best to make a comment about having eaten worse sound casual. Bland food was better than none at all, but it was also better than burned or barely-edible such as might, for example, have been produced by a paladin initiate back when they were still trying to get the knack of cooking over a campfire instead of a proper kitchen one.

Realising rather late that draping wet clothes over the single chair was perhaps not the best of ideas, Max opted instead for sitting on the table to eat. They did not miss Shattershield’s chuckle, but that was at least easier than standing all-too-aware of him, and food at least for a while provided a much-needed distraction.

“I hope Egbert and the others aren’t caught in this,” said Max, as the wind continued its buffeting and the fire struggled to keep the room warm. With food in their belly and a blanket around their shoulders on the table, it was not unbearable but far from pleasant.

“I think they were taking a steeper route down,” Shattershield replied. “I am sure that between them they will manage to find somewhere suitable to take shelter.”

Max thought back on the strange things that had happened the first time they had met the group. “If they haven’t found something bizarre to be doing,” they added, managing some levity in their tone. “Chasing a bear around or something.”

“Well, after they had left Mistmire, I did find information pointing to them having broken into the citadel through the sewer system,” Shattershield said. He did not sound in the faintest bit surprised, only slightly disappointed, and Max started to laugh. “The system guarding one of the grates had been set off, and when Chauncey was later found in the town he had no idea why he was being upbraided for ending up stuck in the sewers.” He shook his head. “Egbert… certainly has a knack for making interesting friends, it must be said.”

“The seal certainly livened up the Trials.”

At that, Shattershield frowned. “The seal is… new,” he said slowly. “Though I was glad to hear that it was not what had happened to the half-orc who claimed to be from… Interpol. That was one of the reasons I was concerned with the gnomes’ interest in it.”

Shattershield had been rather sparing with the details about how he had met the rest of Egbert’s party, and Max could not help getting more curious the more details that slipped out. “Well, Dob has…” they shivered as the cold settled in a little further, and hitched the blanket tighter around them. It had been the thickest-looking one, as well, but it looked as if they were going to need another. “Sorry. Dob has a way of telling interesting stories.”

There was a moment before Shattershield replied, and at first Max was hoping for some more detail only for Shattershield’s expression to turn more serious. He gestured Max over.

“Come on, different orders or not let us not be absurd. Come over here. The bed is closer to the fire and we can simply pile on the blankets.”

The cold abruptly stopped being quite so much of a problem as Max felt themselves flush. “I–” it didn’t quite come out a word at all, and they sat as if rooted to the spot while trying to find something coherent amid their thoughts that was _not_ to do with running their hand down Shattershield’s bare chest. There was frankly not much. “I – really, it’s–”

“My… _injury_ ,” Shattershield used the word like a stamp of regret, “is not so serious that I need to be sat by myself. Come on,” he gestured over again, then patted the bed right beside him. Whatever the mattress had been made of, it was bowing towards him, which rather matched the inexorable feeling as Max realised there was no good way to get out of this. “Fetch the rest of the blankets, they’ll do no good over there either. Dragonborn, er,” he gave the slightest of coughs, not meeting Max’s eye as they gave in and slid to the ground, “run warmer than humans do, besides. I imagine that will not be… untoward.”

The chest was not far from the foot of the bed, and Max scooped most of the remaining blankets or furs into one pile to drop onto the end of the bed. Shattershield reached over to group them and pull them higher along as Max busied themselves fetching the last few, most of which looked to have holes or be furs that had largely worn away. Shattershield was right that they would do nothing in the chest, however, so they grabbed them all before hesitating, uncertain, at the side of the bed.

Shattershield cleared his throat again and more pointedly set his hand down beside him. Max winced internally; no doubt he had noticed the awkwardness. It must have looked like they were trying to avoid him when… well, to be fair, they were to some extent trying to avoid him. It was simply the matter of _why_ that they hoped was not quite so desperately apparent.

Pushing their hair back out of their eyes again, Max sat down beside Shattershield, immediately tilted towards him by the mattress just as they had expected. The sheer _heat_ of him rolled up their left side, provoking one more violent shiver just in time for Shattershield to take hold of a second layer of blanket and place one side over Max’s shoulders before putting the other side up around his own.

The fact that there still _was_ still a blanket separating Max from Shattershield’s bare scales was probably about the only thing keeping their sanity intact. The sway of the bed and the size of the blanket would have made it painfully obvious had they not allowed themselves to settle against his side, or to press into the heat that the touch offered. There was not even enough time for them to think that they should not be looking at him before they were, eyes tracing down his outstretched leg, back up to the hand resting on his knee. The scales were particularly delicate around his knuckles, rounded claws probably kept that way to make it easier to write than from concerns about weapons if Max’s experience was anything to go by. As the blanket shifted with his breathing, they could catch glimpses of his arms, spied a third scar knotted and stark across his left forearm.

They wondered what it would be like, to run fingers over his scales not in some medical emergency or in some brief platonic clasp but… slowly. To linger on the touch. Feel that almost-uncomfortable dragonborn warmth seeping into their skin without the blankets in the way, solid muscles shifting under firm hide. Run a hand down –

“–do you think?”

Oh gods. Oh _gods_. Max blinked, realising they were staring unwaveringly at Shattershield’s arm where it emerged from the blanket, the slight turn of his wrist to show the underside.

And they had absolutely no idea what Shattershield had been saying.

“Maybe,” said Max. They tore their eyes upwards to Shattershield, half-outlined by the fire, over them. Dear gods, let him not have asked something that had too obvious of an answer. “I'm not sure I'm in the best position to judge.”

Shattershield grunted, but did not seem too perturbed. “Well, it appears you saw them more recently than I. Word got back to the Order about the Trials, of course, we had one or two of our more established paladins with the new recruits there, and it all seemed… in order. But I’ve heard concerning stories about a harvest festival involving giant lizards in marrows, and…”

He shook his head, and Max wondered once again how hearing more of the story could result in understanding it less. “I hadn’t heard about anything like that,” they hazarded, because they were pretty sure they would remember if they had. They reached up to toy with a curl of hair that kept falling into the corner of their vision, nervous energy in the touch. “The Inspectors Order doesn’t really have anyone who had to leave,” said Max. “Some that chose to, over the years. Is it… usual, for the former orders to follow them?”

Shattershield heaved a sigh that Max could _feel_. That didn’t help their concentration either. “I can’t speak for other orders,” he said finally, “but Dragon D’Or… well, especially those paladins who already have become dragonborn, we sometimes find it prudent to be sure what stories are spreading about our order. When people see gold dragonborn, they are likely to think of us, whether we are truly involved or not.”

Image management. That made sense, Max supposed, though it was hard to think of something pertinent to add to the conversation. They kept their eyes on Shattershield’s face, not risking allowing them to slip downwards again.

“I was unable to find out exactly what happened at that festival.” He shook his head. “If there had been more to the day I might have been able to ask one of them, but – thinking Egbert dead, well, I had put the thought aside.”

“I don’t think anyone could have predicted what happened yesterday, to be fair,” said Max. Shattershield chuckled for a moment, then fell silent again. “Even Egbert and his friends seemed surprised by–”

Shattershield’s hand had curled into a fist on his thigh, and his teeth were clenched tightly together. Max saw the flicker of fire in his nostrils before he turned quickly away, and felt a tremor in Shattershield’s left leg where it pressed against their right.

“Gods!” Max pushed aside their own blankets and Shattershield’s, putting their hand straight to his thigh to find muscle tense as wire. “What did you not–”

“I wanted to be sure not to breathe flame,” said Shattershield through gritted teeth, the words little more than a growl.

Shattershield had more magic than Max to speak of, but he had used most of it before they had even started walking and must have been at about the last of it to produce food for them. His own ability to lay on hands had also doubtless been depleted.

Spinning round, Max dropped to their knees in front of Shattershield, careful to avoid his clawed feet against the wooden floor. They wrapped their right hand across the remaining scar, finding it as tense as if it were fighting their very touch, and placed the left alongside it as they bowed their head and closed their eyes.

“Oh Deneir, who guides our hands in the writing of our tales,” they said, words spilling more easily than they expected from their lips after… well, more time than they would admit to another paladin. “Lend unto me your power to make right this wrong, to heal this harm.”

Despite the heat of Shattershield’s skin beneath their hands, they felt the spark of the power flowing through them, a prayer answered in silver light that they could see faintly through even their closed eyes.

Then the light faded, and they felt Shattershield’s muscles relax as he breathed, slow and heavy, from above them. For a moment they kept their firm hold, in case the pain struck back and despite the fact that they had little left to offer, only for it to slowly begin to dawn quite _where_ they had wrapped their hands.

They swallowed, looking up at Shattershield again. More than ever he seemed to fill their vision, firelight sparking in his eyes and painting up his chest where the blanket hung open. They caught their hand trembling on his leg, an aching in their chest as the cold air washed over them again.

Max parted their lips, looking for something to say, gods, even a question of whether the pain had passed… but words would not come, throat seeming to tighten.

They could feel, just faintly, the warmth of Shattershield’s breath as he looked down towards them. His eyes moved to the hands still on his leg, hands which abruptly felt as heavy as stone, then back again to Max still kneeling, frozen, before him.

“If I have done something to make you uncomfortable,” said Shattershield slowly, each word heavy with care and deliberately placed between them. A desperate bubble of laughter rose in Max’s chest at the absurd wrongness of the suggestion, swelling uncomfortably behind their ribs. “Please allow me to apologise for it. I would never mean to…”

He trailed off, gaze locked on Max’s. It was not even as if they had been in the cabin that long, they had not yet even slept one night, but already Shattershield had seen clearly that _something_ sat in the air between them. They could not allow… it was unfair on him to think it, gods, that Max was somehow driven away by him or his actions.

Max’s mouth was dry, but they ran their tongue across their lower lip all the same. “Not at all,” they said, only for it to come out as more of a whisper. They shifted their hand on Shattershield’s thigh, a hint of movement, and saw his gaze flicker there for a moment. No, that was unfair as well. They knew that they should draw the touch away, but could not help just for a moment longer letting it linger. “I simply would not…” the words trailed from their lips. There was something in Shattershield’s gaze, some uncertainty, and he slowly reached to cup their jaw.

It was like a brand, and Max snatched in their breath. The heat of Shattershield’s fingers stroked along their cheek, claws just brushing their skin, his thumb tracing a vertical line past the corner of their mouth. It drew the air from their lungs, left them breathing back in with a gasp.

They could not read his expression, not in the half-darkness, not behind the scales, not with the stern walls so readily apparent around him.

“I did not want to make you uncomfortable,” said Max, words also dragging slowly on their tongue. Or perhaps that was just the way that time seemed to be dragging, each breath so long that it hurt. Shattershield’s thumb brushed against the corner of their mouth, then down along their lower lip as their lips parted softly. He seemed to be studying Max’s face as his thumb continued its torturous movement.

“If I have misread…” the words were careful and low, rumbling down from Shattershield’s chest until Max could almost feel them shivering down.

But to indicate that he could also want… Max let their lips part further, then with slow deliberation and their gaze still locked with Shattershield’s ran their tongue over the pad of his thumb. His breath hitched, a hiss, but he did not look away as Max dragged their teeth back down over the same scales.

Leaving their right hand on Shattershield’s thigh, they brought their left around to take gentle hold of his wrist. This time the racing of their heart had the edge of excitement, not of fear, and even as some part of Max half-expected Shattershield to draw back or turn away he kept watching, as if in fascination, as Max bit softly at the heel of his thumb.

It felt no rougher than calloused skin, despite the toughness that Max knew lay within dragonborn hide. The scales flowed smoothly as Max ran their mouth back up along Shattershield’s thumb, letting their tongue sweep over his skin.

They paused, breathless, drawing their lips back from his hand again. Still he made no move to pull away, watching with his mouth slightly opened and his hand holding steady.

“If I am doing something wrong,” said Max, tilting their head against the hair trying to fall into their eyes again but never looking away. “I would ask that you tell me.”

They saw Shattershield swallow. “You are doing nothing wrong,” he replied, voice as soft and deep as a purr. It sent a shiver that had nothing to do with cold down Max’s spine.

Releasing his thigh, they let their hand drift to his stomach and begin tracing up against his skin. They could feel his breathing beneath their hand, the shift of muscles, as they pressed another kiss to his palm and let their lips linger.

A thrill rushed through them, as strong as the freedom of running, as bright as the rush of a fight. Shattershield’s breathing was growing quicker as they ran their hand across his chest, back down his side, kissing down his palm and along his fingers to the base of his claws at the end.

Bending further down, Shattershield pressed his other hand to Max’s side, searing through the absurd memorial shirt. They could feel his nails against their back as they breathed. He tugged forwards, upwards, and Max rose first to one knee and then all the way to their feet as Shattershield guided them up. Almost of a height again; they ran their fingers along his collarbone, to the base of his throat.

“You shouldn’t be in the cold,” said Shattershield. Max could not even have said what the air in the room was like, heat glowing beneath their skin. “Sit back down.”

“Sit back,” Max replied, blood still thrumming like wardrums in their veins. They remembered Shattershield’s shocked look when they had told him to sit on the bed in the first place; this time, it had dimmed to surprise, and something like appreciation joined it as he shifted further back from the edge of the bed, pushing the heap of blankets against the wall behind him. He seemed to understand what Max intended as they stepped clear for a moment before climbing onto the bed, kneeling over him as he bought his own legs together.

Sliding into his lap felt like slipping into a place already meant for them. Shattershield’s hands ran up Max’s thighs, their hips, as they brushed their nails down his chest and then bent in, eager warmth swelling in them, to press an open-mouthed kiss to the base of his throat.

Shattershield _growled_ , low and thrumming through his chest until Max could feel it on their lips. But one of his hands came up to rake through their hair, claws just grazing their scalp, as they pressed a second and a third kiss along his collarbone. He shifted his thighs, angling them closer together, and then Max was faintly aware of a blanket being draped back around their shoulders once again.

They broke away, glancing at the hem of it on their shoulder, then rocked back far enough to look at Shattershield again. “Really?”

“I truly did call you over in the first place because of the cold.”

He said it so levelly, so _earnestly_ , that Max found themselves half-laughing as they returned to mouthing back along Shattershield’s shoulder and up the line of his neck until they were craning upwards to the spines that flared back from his jaw. No, perhaps spines was not the right word; Max ran their fingers across the scales, then paused as they seemed to shiver and rustle beneath their touch. They glanced at Shattershield, who was still looking down towards the half-exposed curve of Max’s shoulder beneath the too-large shirt.

Another touch, warm almost-rough scales against Max’s skin tapering to delicate points. They were not so hard as nail or bone, but had a stiffness about them still, and made a whispering sound as they moved against each other. Max reached upwards, until their lips just brushed against the scales, only for Shattershield to snort and cock his head away.

Oh, gods. Max drew back, concern that the touch was unpleasant, even taboo, flashing through them. “Are you–” they began quickly.

“That… tickles,” said Shattershield, gruffly.

It was relief as much as amusement that brought another hiccup of laughter to Max’s lips, though they tried to cover it with a cough. Shattershield huffed, ran one hand down Max’s side between the layers of their clothing, then leaned in to Max’s shoulder instead.

Max jumped at the touch of a tongue against their neck, running up in one firm sweep. The hot press of Shattershield’s tongue gave way to the cold of the air, and then Shattershield _nipped_ at their shoulder, so lightly it was barely a touch at all, but still enough to leave them gasping and swaying into his arms.

Shattershield muttered something that sounded rather close to, “Let’s see how you like it,” before his tongue swept another line up Max’s neck in that same ripple of hot and cold. He grazed his claws over Max’s side again, and Max faintly wondered whether it was meant to be searching for ticklish spots because frankly, it wasn’t finding any. They arched into Shattershield’s touch, tilting their head to open up their neck to him as his scales and his teeth both brushed against their skin.

Another bite, this one a little harder but still less than Max found themselves wanting. They gripped Shattershield’s shoulders, his muscles flexing as his hand ran along the back of their thigh. _That_ tickled more than any touch of his tongue, and as his touch almost reached Max’s inner thigh they gasped again and pressed their hips against him.

They ran their fingers through the not-spines, hoping they would remember to ask later what they were actually called, until Shattershield gave another growl against the crook of their neck. Sliding a hand back down between them, they swept down the scales of his chest, scar strange and smooth compared to the rest of his skin. It took a moment’s searching before they even realised that there was no nipple for them to find, just the sweep of muscle that barely gave even under the pressure of their fingertips.

“I’m afraid I’m not ticklish,” said Max, unable to hide a smile as they whispered in Shattershield’s ear. His claws pressed harder into their side as he drew back to regard them.

“Hmm. Seems like I need to find another way to deal with you,” he murmured.

Max started to laugh, kissing the side of his jaw again and using their weight to push him back towards the blankets and the wall behind. “I think it’s you that needs–”

They broke off, with a yelp, as Shattershield wrapped one iron-strong arm right around their waist to clasp them together, and then proceeded to roll them down onto the bed. Between hitting their back and the wave of warmth and _presence_ as Shattershield followed over them, for a good few breaths they could not think of anything coherent at all. Shattershield pressed his advantage, a barely-there bite to the other side of Max’s collarbone being followed by a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue that ran all the way up to flick Max’s earlobe. The sheer deliberation of it, Shattershield’s body so close that when Max’s back arched it pressed them together but with no weight against them, was setting its own damn fire down Max’s spine.

Their legs tightened around Shattershield’s hips, until the ragged fabric of his torn trousers caught for a moment against their leg and the memory of it came back. Still panting, Max planted both hands on Shattershield’s chest and pushed him up.

Before he could fully start frowning, they put a fingertip to his mouth. “Your leg,” they said, pointedly. Shattershield hung his head for a moment, with another huff. “I don’t want you doubling over because of pain from it again.”

“Very well,” he said, voice almost grave but with the curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Providing you,” he slid out his arm from beneath them, “remove the image of my disgraced former-recruit...”

Max glanced down at their chest, where a slightly askew image of Egbert did indeed look up at them both. “Deal,” they replied.

They gave another light shove to Shattershield’s shoulder, and he rolled onto his back with a thud that made the wood of the bed creak. Kneeling up, Max pulled off the memorial shirt and tossed it to the foot of the bed, cool air skimming over their shoulders. Shattershield did not look at all surprised by the laced short stay beneath, but then again Max would not be surprised if some of his own order wore similar things. The padding beneath full plate was a gentler support around the chest, but there was not room for that much beneath the lighter layers that Max wore, and a simple band from beneath the arms to the bottom of the ribs, adjusted with laces at the sides, was easier to move in than even the best-made of armour.

Shattershield _gleamed_ in the firelight, and for a moment Max caught themselves simply looking down his body hungrily with one hand lightly on his hip. It took a breath to remember themselves before they could even think to straddle him again, hotly aware that they were across his hips far more than across his lap this time. They pushed their hair back, only for stray curls to immediately fall back into their eyes again and get a second, more annoyed, shove.

With a rumble that was not even a word, Shattershield reached up and wound a hand into Max’s hair again. It certainly pushed it back off their face, Max had to say, never mind the tingling sensations as his fingertips and nails traced minute circles on their scalp.

They bent down and kissed his chest again, prompting a sigh that faded into a groan as their lips traced downwards. Even feeling the dampness of sweat on their palms, they could feel the itch for _more_ of him, kissing down the centre of his chest only to run their tongue back up. With one hand braced on his shoulder, they ran the other down, feeling each ridge of muscle until their fingertips met with the leather of his belt and his breath hitched.

Max paused, glancing up, but could not see Shattershield’s expression. “May I…”

“Yes,” said Shattershield, more hoarse than terse. Max returned their mouth to its work, feeling Shattershield’s claws tighten slightly in their hair as they ran their lips over the smooth pattern of his scales.

Dragonborn were not exactly common, even in cities where more of a mixture of folk might be gathered. Max had spoken to several over their years as a paladin, had clasped or shaken the hands of a few, but had never really so much as had time to _notice_ the delicate patterns in their scales. The way that they interlaced across the body, the way they followed the lines of muscles, the subtle shifts in tone that caught differently in the firelight and shone like they had locked in some fire themselves.

 _Certainly_ they would never have guessed the way the one might rumble, deep in his chest, as Max play-bit at his skin. But then again, they probably never would have thought of that question in the first place. They undid Shattershield’s belt one-handed, with only a couple of false starts of tugging the leather in the wrong direction, and tugged loose the knot on the drawstring beneath.

They had to admit, they weren’t sure what to expect of a dragonborn’s body, at least when even sitting astride Shattershield’s hips had not produced the sort of response it did in the bodies of _some_ others. But moving from city to city, from task to task, had long since pushed adaptability to the top of the traits that Max had needed to prioritise. If all else failed, doubtless Shattershield himself would have some advice worth following.

To shift further down they had to release Shattershield’s shoulder, about to hook a hand around his belt and push everything away when they remembered his clawed feet. They had never exactly paid much attention to Shattershield’s ankles, and now glanced back over their shoulder with a frown and a new curiosity in how he managed to get trousers on over his feet at all.

“Are you…” Shattershield shifted, pushing up onto one elbow in a way that really only served to set the muscles of his abdomen glittering, then trailed off as Max looked back to him. “Ah. They lace at the calves,” he explained, with the slightly weary tone of one who had needed to explain it before. “Young paladins after they have been changed rather struggle with that.”

“I can only imagine.” Having someone around the citadel with knowledge of spells of mending might help, of course, but it was probably still an annoyance. Max felt Shattershield’s hand slip free of their hair, leaving curls bouncing against their cheek again, then he ran the same hand down their chest. The thick fabric dulled the sensation, and Max went to yank open the lacing only for Shattershield to hook a claw in first, drawing the string taut and seemingly waiting for Max to notice.

They stilled, looking up at him through their hair as he cocked his head in an unspoken question. Max nodded, and in one delicate move Shattershield plucked the knot free – of _course_ he knew by sight how to undo that exact knot in one move, they probably used it for something utterly mundane at the citadel. And did not manage to need to cut themselves out of their own clothes in the way that Max had on more than one occasion. Max took a deep breath, feeling the laces loosen all the way up, then sat up to free both hands and peel their clothing upwards.

Shattershield’s hand was back on them before they had even finished pulling it over their head, tracing claw-points down the centre of their chest before reaching to cup one slight breast in his hand. There was not even enough to fill his palm, if Max were honest, but Shattershield leant into the touch all the same. His thumb teased at Max’s nipple, not at all a relief after it had been hard beneath their clothing for so long already.

A light shove to Shattershield’s shoulder was all that it took to remind him to drop to his back again. He reached up with his free hand, probably for Max’s hair again, but they caught hold of his wrist and kissed his palm again.

His fingers were not really that rough at all, but it was the _same_ across his whole hand in a way that felt stranger than Max would have thought. Max wrapped their lips around Shattershield’s index finger, running their tongue along the skin and sucking gently at the tip. His fingers pinched, just enough to ache, and Max moaned against his hand and nipped his skin.

“I have not been human for many years,” said Shattershield. It sent a shiver down Max’s time to hear him sounding slightly breathless, to see him watching as Max sucked just slightly harder, let their cheeks hollow. “I was too young to really… appreciate certain things.”

“But trade them for others, right?” said Max. They ran their hand down the muscle of his forearm, then teasing back up again, and sucked another kiss to his skin. “The gifts of your god.”

Shattershield gave another rumble of assent, then tugged down the hand in Max’s grip. “Come a little closer,” he said. Max obliged, bending over him as his finger and thumb continued their attentions. Shattershield’s thumb ran across their lip again, and they went to chase it, only for him to bow his head and for his tongue to caress their other nipple instead.

A gasp escaped them, partially from that still-strange hot-and-cold sensation but partially from his tongue itself. Against their neck or shoulder had been one thing, but Max could feel it flex _around_ their nipple, rippling against sensitive skin. They closed their eyes, gripping at the bedsheets. Shattershield’s breath was hot against their skin, but his tongue was hotter, turning and stroking but never quite giving the sucking feeling of lips, always leaving somewhere for the cold air to sting. His teeth brushed Max’s skin, likely no more than an accident, but Max couldn’t help the moan that they answered with.

Their free hand groped blindly at his chest, his side, down to follow the curve of bone beneath his hip. His tongue swept upwards, rolled and cupped their nipple as it pulled back, and then in its wake his fingers took over at the work. The roll of his touch felt more marked over damp skin, claws brushing more and more often as he seemed to realise that Max did not fear them. Then Shattershield brought his tongue to their other nipple, soothing warmth after coaxing touch, and even the work it put on their muscles to hold themselves angled above him was nothing compared to the rush of heat, of pleasure, down Max’s spine.

“Oh gods,” they gasped, tilting their hips against Shattershield’s in a way that probably felt more pointed than the instinct that it was. Shattershield gave another deep rumbling sound, and the thought of calling it a purr was in their mind before they could catch the absurdity of it.

His hand ran down their back again, this time with just a hint of pressure to the claws. Just enough that Max could almost feel the path on their skin, unsure whether it was simply their own imagination or not. As his hand came to rest at their hips, though, they remembered where their hands had been headed before his interruption, and with something that was not far from a growl of their own they pulled upright and tossed back their hair.

“Distraction tactics, Captain?” They managed to get a teasing tone into their voice, but it was still breathless. His hand was on the small of their back, the slightest pressure as if holding their hips together as well, and Max’s thighs were starting to ache from the tension of being over him and yet not quite close enough. “I should have known you’d try to outmanoeuvre me.”

“I thought I’d have to do something to keep up with those legs of yours,” Shattershield replied. After the days of his terse words and careful sentences on the way from Mistmire to where Suzette had been, after seeing the injury crash through him, Max could not help a beaming smile to hear even the driest of jokes from his tongue. It felt like their cheeks would ache, after the worry worn into them.

They bent to press one more firm kiss to the centre of his chest, then climbed aside and turned to undo the laces he had said would be at his ankles. A laugh escaped them as they recognised the knot as the same one that had been on their short stay, and just as easy to pull loose in one sweep each.

As they went to reach for his hips again, they found Shattershield sitting up, almost leaving them crashing together. Shattershield caught them with one arm, nudging against their hair for a moment as Max bumped against his chest.

He gave a rumble of amusement as Max disentangled themselves, sitting back on their heels and pushing their hair back again. One hand traced their cheek, just tantalisingly close to the corner of their mouth. “You always seem to be toying with your hair. Did you realise?”

“It… rather defies control,” said Max. As if to prove their point, a curl rolled down across their eye again. “Even tying it back does no good.”

Shattershield pushed back the rogue curl himself. “It is rather endearing,” he said.

When it wasn’t getting in their mouth, at least, but the words sparked their own sort of warmth quite different from the heat of their bodies. Max was not quite sure how to respond.

“But if you are determined to see me out of the rest of my clothes,” Shattershield continued, at least rescuing Max from that uncertainty, “then I fear I must insist on the same in return.”

Somehow he still managed to deliver it in a grave tone, so much that for a moment Max thought that there was some problem until the meaning of the words sank in. Then, with a huffed laugh and their eyes still on Shattershield, they undid their belt, knelt up just enough to push their trousers and underclothes both at once down about their thighs, then sat sideways to free their legs to slide them the rest of the way off.

The cold air was… there, noticeable, but the fire was keeping the worst of it at bay and the rest was easy to ignore as Max pushed their clothes over beside the half-scattered pile of blankets. By the time they looked around, Shattershield was bending to more carefully manoeuvre his own clothing past the longer claws of his feet. Max’s eyes traced down his back, the scales larger and darker there, a line over his spine slightly more fluted in their shape like the ghost of a crest.

They bit their lip as their eyes skimmed down his thigh – the uninjured side beside them, now, unscarred – then back as he sat up again. It took a moment, in the flickering firelight, to be quite sure of the lines that they were seeing, their own hunger for him feeding their curiosity. Then it clicked, and yes, of course; there were plenty of species that kept their genitals internal, safe within the body, and a dragonborn’s thicker hide would surely only make it safer still.

Just another layer to prolong the anticipation, they supposed.

Before Shattershield could quite sit upright, Max reached in to kiss his neck again, sucking kisses up along the line of his pulse and feeling more than hearing him rumble deep in his chest. They ran their tongue up to as close beneath his ear as they could with the not-spines twitching in place with each one of his breaths.

“Do you want to lie back down?” they said, voice lowered even though they knew, even though it was obvious, that there would be no-one to hear. Shattershield grazed his claws down their flank, all the way to the curve of their ass, and it took aching self-control not to push him down immediately. Or try to, Max supposed; they only had a real chance if they caught him by surprise. “Or sit up?”

Shattershield growled, the sound low and dangerous, and it set Max’s spine aflame in a way that it might not have been meant to. Then again, as Shattershield nipped the curve of their shoulder, then ran his tongue over the stinging mark, it seemed just as possible that he knew _exactly_ what it would do.

“You have some nerve, to give me orders,” he said.

When Max sat back on their haunches again, though, there was intensity, _desire_ , gleaming in his eyes. They ran fingers down his snout, along the side and skimming the visible points of his teeth. “Are you planning to disobey them?”

“Hmm.” Shattershield pressed his cheek into their hand, like rubbing against it, then hooked a hand around their waist. “I believe not.”

As he fell to his back he tugged Max over to him, and they laughed as they were pulled inelegantly into his chest. They planted both hands against his abdomen and pushed up onto their knees, catching themselves before straddling him entirely and instead sitting themselves astride his right thigh.

 _Gods_ , the heat alone was almost too much. Max fought to keep their breath, a shiver making their hips shudder against Shattershield’s thigh until they wrested control of themselves again. Then Shattershield’s hands were on them again, his tongue, brushing over stretches of their shoulder and neck becoming sensitive with the attention. The press of his claws against the centre of their back made them gasp, catching with one hand at his shoulders but keeping enough of their thoughts to keep the other one free.

They ran their right hand down Shattershield’s chest, his stomach, thrill building in their core as it continued on down. They could feel the finer grain of his scales, the shift in the flow of them, leading to the horizontal seam, marked to the touch even if the firelight made it hard to see. Shattershield gave a shuddering groan as Max traced along the line, gently at first, then back again with more pressure. His knee shifted, pressing up between their legs as he adjusted their weight across him like it was nothing at all. It probably was not, but Max had to squirm back a little, propping themselves up on one forearm and reaching downwards with the other.

“Don’t want to slip out of reach,” they said, breathlessly. Another brush against the seam, but there was no obvious comparison they could reach to, and they certainly did not want to spoil things with an uncomfortably placed hand, though. “Think I might need a hint about what to do next, though.”

Shattershield cocked his head, blinking a few times. “Oh,” he said, finally. “You showed such confidence, I presumed you knew what to – expect.”

“I’m flattered that I gave that impression,” said Max. They drew idle circles on his upper thigh, in lieu of being quite certain what else they should do with them. Part of them did wonder whether it might be easier to be clear-headed were they not pinned so tightly to his thigh by the hand in the small of their back, the slightest shift that either of them made leaving it harder and harder not to grind with total abandon against him. But curiosity was alongside the flame that drew them in, and even more than their own enjoyment they wanted to see what _Shattershield_ looked like taken apart. “But I think I might need a guiding hand.”

For a moment, he did not reply, and Max kept their fingers trailing even if it was hard to keep it feeling idle. Then, more gently, Shattershield wrapped his left hand over Max’s right and guided it back to the centre of his body, their touch trailing over his skin. Max could feel their heart beating faster again, feeling breathless as their hand was led right to the centre of him.

“Direct pressure to here,” said Shattershield, little more than a murmur. Max watched his gaze, enraptured by the flicker of uncertainty there, the intensity still swelling around it. Bit by bit, Max increased the pressure of their touch, rubbing in ovals that just skimmed against the slit at their lowest.

Shattershield’s breath caught, then came out half a growl, low in his chest. Max bit their lip, followed the movement a little deeper, the fingers of their other hand curling against his chest as his claws pressed harder against their back. He dropped his head back, finally breaking their gaze as a rough groan ran through him, and Max looked back and down his body to see flushed-pink flesh visible.

They looked up at Shattershield again, but his head was still back against the pillow. Max levered themselves to a more seated position, hips still tilted against Shattershield’s thigh where it met his hip, but mostly upright. His hand was only loose over theirs.

“Can I touch you?” they said. Gods, their mouth might have felt dry but not all of their body agreed, thighs tensing around his.

Shattershield nodded, and they thought he might have said yes aloud but it was hard to be sure over the rush of their own breath and their heartbeat in their ears.

Their eyes slid down him again as they reached to run their fingertips gently over, well, what had to be the head of his cock. It was slightly slick to the touch, faint lines radiating down it, hot and damp against Max’s hand, their palm. A little more pointed than a human cock, narrow-tipped, but with a marked flare to the head. Max bit their lip, forming a circle with finger and thumb to run down the emerging shaft – already hard, already slick – and trying to prevent their hand from trembling.

Certainly there was a shaft, a head. The purpose was clear. But the head gave way to a rippling, slightly curved shaft, ridges tracing vees up from its centreline, small bumps strung like pearls that grew in size the closer they came to the base of him. And at the base – that had to be his full length, or at least Max _hoped_ it was because already a good handspan long – a thickening and solidness that they could not quite touch their fingers together around.

Excitement quickened in their chest as they stroked his full length with their hand, his hips bucking slightly into the touch. The skin felt… _softer_ , not just than dragonborn skin but more like the inside of a mouth, silky beneath their hand despite the unrelenting firmness of the flesh. They shifted their wrist, rolling their hand about the shaft and feeling the bumps and the ridges grind and press against their palm in, gods, in such unpredictable patterns that it felt like nothing they had known before.

“Fuck,” they breathed aloud, and only even realised a moment later that they had done so. They hadn’t cursed until that moment, they realised, and the oddity of that thought made them huff a laugh to themselves as they continued to pump at him.

This time, the growl that left Shattershield’s throat was more ragged, further from a human noise of frustration. The hand on Max’s back slipped lower, cupping their ass, and Max was more than happy to rock their hips with the invitation of it. The friction thrilled through them, made them hiss between their teeth as the pleasure bit almost too sharp against them, but still it was not quite enough.

The feel in him in their hand was almost hypnotising, the tip of him damp beneath the swipe of their thumb making him give a low grunt. They weren’t sure whether it was the fire, or their imagination, or there really was a faint burnished edge to his skin where the light caught it.

“Stop,” said Shattershield hoarsely, hand closing over Max’s wrist again. He was trembling; one of them was trembling, at least, and Max wasn’t wholly sure which it was as Shattershield uncurled his claws from their skin and pushed up onto one elbow. He was breathing hard, and his cock twitched slightly in Max’s hand. “I – one moment.”

It was clear what he meant, and flattering to say the least. Max relaxed their fingers to barely a touch, still feeling the throb where his claws had been. With their other hand they stroked up his side, then scraped their nails back down, feeling him arch his back slightly even as his breathing grew steadier again.

It felt almost crude, to simply say that they _wanted_ him. But their fingers itched to splay against his scales, their body reaching for his heat in ways that had nothing to do with the cold. It _ached_ in the base of their stomach. Gods, if they had tried for his Order they would not have made it through the first month without driving themselves mad. As it was, they might have been able to walk away after a couple of days nothing more than flustered and distracted, but to have this chance…

“Did I make good use of the hint?” they said, as the silence dragged out just long enough to become slightly uncomfortable. The words seemed to fall fully-formed from their tongue, no time to even consider them, and Max felt their eyes go wide at the same moment as Shattershield gave them a surprised look.

Whether it was his expression or bemusement with themselves, Max could not say, but before they knew it they were laughing, trying to hide it in a cough only to fail and make a snorting sound instead. Shattershield, still looking bemused, began to laugh as well. It was the opposite of helpful, and Max drew their hand away from Shattershield altogether to laugh against the back of it, giggling helplessly at their own impulsive words like a student asking for feedback on a test. That the comparison flitted through their head only made it worse, and before they knew it there was the glint of tears at the corner of their eye at the absurdity of it all.

Shattershield collected himself far faster, one hand resting on each of Max’s thighs as they glanced up to the ceiling and gathered themselves. Certain of the muscles in their stomach which had done more of the work in hiking and climbing back down were unimpressed with the outburst, but even the laughing felt too good after the tension – the various tensions – of the last days.

“I’m sorry,” said Max finally, though they knew they were still smiling broadly. They wiped away the tear from one eye with their left hand. “Gods. I just said that before I even thought about whether I should.”

“Hmm. Well, you _did_ make good use,” Shattershield, replied, and Max pressed their lips together and tried to look annoyed with him to stop themselves from laughing again. It was only partially successful, but at least did prevent them from bursting into peals of giggling again. “What did you intend with me?”

That, at least, was sobering, a reminder of the tension still coiled about their hips. They glanced down at their hand, palm and fingers still wet, then turned it around to lick one digit clean. Shattershield clenched his jaw, and Max _felt_ a growl run through him that was too low to even hear. The taste on their skin was only faint, salt and smoke, but the press of his claws into their thighs was far, far more immediate.

They pushed back their hair again, deliberately this time as they held his gaze. “I think you should stay right there,” they said, planting a hand in the middle of his chest. Certainly it would better protect the injury lingering his leg, bone still knit together more with magic than with anything else. But they would be lying if they tried to claim there was not more in feeling the coiled power of him under their hand, between their thighs, hands searing hot upon their skin. “And I stop letting my _hand_ have all the fun.”

With the way that he was looking at them, they weren’t sure it would actually take all that much at all, but gods if Max did not want to find out. They glanced down at Shattershield’s hands on their thighs, pointedly, then up to meet his gaze again as they took hold of one of his wrists as he had guided them.

Well, at least something like it; their hand could not wrap right around his wrist in the same way, and the angle felt a little clumsier. They also rather suspected that Shattershield would not be so lacking in knowledge of what to expect, though it never did to presume. The Order of Dragon D’Or did not have any rules about chastity – people _always_ had questions about that when it came to different orders, and all of the Inspectors Order learnt pretty quickly which orders _did_ – after all.

Shattershield clearly knew where his hand was being guided, starting to move it more quickly between Max’s thighs, but Max tightened their hold on his wrist in a wicked impulse. It made _them_ ache, but it was Shattershield who made another low snarling sound as his hand was slowed and _that_ more than made up for it.

They certainly hadn’t known that about themselves before today. But Shattershield’s other hand tightened in tangible frustration, and that pleasure lit deeper than touch in Max’s belly. Fighting against their own desire, they kept the movement of his hand slow right up until his fingers brushed against them, pressing for purchase on wet skin. Max caught their breath as his fingers swept along them, sending flickers of fire down their spine, rough sure fingertips working their way up to finally brush against their clit.

It was like a lightning bolt, and they cursed again through their teeth. That consistent, purr-like rumble was back in Shattershield’s chest, and they could feel it in their hand as their hips rocked into his touch. The claw of his thumb caught against their thigh, and they both flinched back for a moment, then Shattershield muttered something to himself and pressed up with the heel of his hand instead.

It would be so easy. They could feel the prickling tight-wound tension in them yearning to break like a fever, and between the intensity of Shattershield’s gaze and the ready placement of his hand Max knew it would not take them long. But the interest that had taken root in them was too strong, and they glanced down again at Shattershield’s cock beside them.

“If you’d rather not worry about your hands, there are other options,” they said.

His hand stilled. Max could all but feel their pulse, not just in their chest but between their thighs as well, and bit the inside of their lip against the swell of heat and desire in them. Shattershield glanced down as well, then cleared his throat. “You want to…”

They nodded, not quite trusting themselves to speak without groaning in frustration. Without a pause, Shattershield drew his hand away and reached up to cup Max’s hips again, and Max leant on his chest as they shifted to straddle him fully. His hands clasped tightly to their skin. Max looked down between them, growing breathless and knowing that their hand was certainly shaking now, and only from this angle realised that Shattershield’s cock leant slightly to the right. Well, that only made a guiding hand a better idea.

Shattershield growled again as they wrapped a hand around his shaft, but this time it was only guidance, only until he reached their entrance and their body could do the rest. Between how helplessly wet Max already was and the slickness of him – it could only be easier when both parties helped that along, Max supposed – it was easy, teasing them open as they lowered themselves onto him.

Even the first touch of the rippled shaft left Max feeling like they could barely breathe. They could _feel_ him reaching deeper, not just the head but the rest of him as well, every inch of them being left aflame at his touch. Shattershield was speaking again, but the words were in Draconic and though Max recognised the language they had never found the time to learn it.

A moan broke from their lips as they rocked down against him, each time a little deeper, a little more searing heat sending shivers of pleasure up and through them. Max closed their eyes, losing themselves to the feel of him, groaning as the thickness of him stretched just enough, just almost too much, their hips meeting his just as they began to worry they would not be able to take him.

They took a few deep breaths, adjusting to the feel of him, the ferocious heat of his body only made more intense inside them. Arousal tightened at their muscles, tightened around him, and Max dug their fingers into Shattershield’s sides before they even had time to think about doing so. Even a breath seemed to be enough to send new rivulets of heat, of pleasure, running through their body from the touch.

Finally, they swallowed, opening their eyes and raising their head to see that Shattershield had fallen back against the sheets again. Well, at least he didn’t seem to be finding it any less overwhelming, they supposed. Max squared up their hips against his sides; Shattershield raised his head with a low rumble, then leaning their hands against his chest Max deliberately rose and fell against him.

It was like fireworks behind their eyes, formless bursts of pleasure as every inch of him dragged along them. Shifting forwards to lean over Shattershield, Max rolled their hips again, this time more subtle and more circular, and _gods_ at least they could think clearly enough to do so. Shattershield adjusted his hold on their hips, brought up his right knee to support the angle at which they moved, and Max wished that they could find words but managed nothing but a whispered curse as they found a rhythm against him.

He was still talking in Draconic, though Max thought they caught their name among it and was oddly touched despite not knowing at all what he was saying. All that they could manage was ragged breaths and soft moans, fighting to keep the movement of their body slow and steady enough to savour each thrust of him, to appreciate each sensation without losing it to the explosion that had seemed to overwhelm them when they had moved more quickly.

They could feel sweat trickling down their neck, damp on their thighs beneath his hands, cold distant beyond thought. It took concentration not to lose themselves, worth it in each stroke that rippled through them, that took them again to the point of breathless fullness before ebbing away. Each sway of their hips was like a fresh tremor running down their spine, burning-bright heat gathering in their belly.

Shattershield reached up, fingers brushing their jaw again, and they leaned into the touch just as eagerly, and far more quickly, as they had the first one. They caught his thumb between their lips, flicking their tongue against it, and realised that Shattershield was asking a question only by the way that his voice turned upwards.

Max frowned slightly, and he repeated what sounded like about the same words. At least, they seemed to have about the same feel beneath Max’s hands on his chest, the same emphatic beats. Feeling slightly sheepish, Max let their mouth drop from Shattershield’s hand, beginning to slow the movement of their hips before realising that it would only be more torturous.

“I don’t speak Draconic,” they said, with a shake of their head within the cup of his hand.

“Should I…” Shattershield trailed off into another low growling sound, and Max fell still atop him despite the way that it made their legs feel ready to buckle. A muffled sound left their own lips, heat pulsing through them and tightening in their muscles, a terrible closeness to the edge that almost hurt to pull back from. Shattershield said a word that, by its cadence, was cursing of its own, then grunted. “I cannot say it in Common.”

“Can’t,” Max said, fighting their own breathlessness, “or won’t?”

With a grumble of sound that seemed to resonate through every part of him, Shattershield hitched his knee again, tilting Max close to him and dragging his claws lightly up and down their back. The new angle felt _different_ – not better, not lesser, but different enough for Max to gasp and their hips to shudder in place for a moment.

“Your hands did work,” he said, words still low and clipped but, Max was quite sure, as carefully chosen as always. “Allow mine.”

They could still feel ghostly touches of his hands, his claws, against their hips and thighs. The scattered points were just as tender as the sweep of their shoulders, but their pattern on Max’s skin left touches sparking off them from each touch rather than an overwhelming wave. It was on the tip of their tongue to say that his hands had done quite enough; behind it were barely restrained words to beg him to let them move again, to end the torturous seconds of waiting to try to understand his offer.

But then his hand dipped down, knuckles brushing down their stomach and against the curls at the base of it, and Max’s sharp sound of realisation became a moan as his thumb found their clit and made even the slightest stroke against it.

“Oh gods.” It was almost without thought that they began to move against him again, body crying out in motion even as their tongue still tried for words. “Oh gods, _yes_.”

The shape and the heat of him, seeking out each inch of them as if solely to trace pleasure there. His thumb brushing against their clit, short brisk movements that hitched and thrummed and _ached_ , ached with the tension that it wound in them until they could feel themselves nearing the edge. He did not seem to notice how much of their weight was leaning on him, Max’s arms trembling as they braced themselves against his chest and felt, as much as heard, the sounds of encouragement he made. Approving grunts, breathless hisses, low throaty noises that Max was not even sure they had a name for.

Certainly they could not have spoken, fire beginning to crawl up their spine, thighs starting to tense about Shattershield’s hips. They were caught between gasps and moans, chest tightening until it felt like they could barely breathe at all, until it crashed back open as pleasure swept through them.

A jagged sound escaped them as orgasm shattered and shivered its way through their body. Hot-cool rushes of sensation, colours flashing behind their closed eyes, legs quaking as wave on wave on _wave_ ran down their body.

Shattershield growled, longer and lower, clutching at their hip and breathing fast as his body juddered against theirs. Max ground down against him as he came in turn, blinking open their eyes in time to see the way that his muscles tightened, the way that the not-spines behind his ears shivered and twitched in place as a new and different heat rushed within them.

They recovered their breath faster than their thoughts, and bent to kiss Shattershield’s chest again, gentler and less hungry as the ache in them abated. It was not as if the strength of Shattershield’s muscles or the hot slide of his hand down their spine were less appreciated, of course, but the desperate drive had at least dimmed to something more manageable.

“This is not how I thought today would go,” said Shattershield levelly, after a moment.

Max gave a snort of laughter against his chest, then sat up again to be able to meet his eyes. The sensation of him softening was strange, as much retracting as anything else, and Max was not at all sure of the etiquette of the issue but Shattershield did not seem to mind as they held their place. “Me neither, to be fair,” they replied. There was a husky edge to their voice, once which they suspected water would not be enough to wash away. “Sometimes I guess it… isn’t worth trying to plan.”

He gave one of those wordless sounds of acknowledgement which some people seemed to be so skilled in. Him among them, to be fair, as Max still found themselves relaxing under his touch, the hand stroking their back. There was still a pleasant dull warmth between their thighs even as the hottest rush ebbed.

“Can I ask what you were saying in Draconic?” said Max, with a tilt of their head that they hoped softened the question a little. It was idle curiosity, really; he had certainly seemed to expect them to understand.

Shattershield huffed, a sort of sheepish laugh buried somewhere in it. “Well, at the end I asked… what I then struggled to offer in Common,” he said. His other hand, still on Max’s hip, was a perfect warmth against their skin. “But before that, I…” he sighed, and glanced off for a moment into the dim firelight around them. They wondered whether it was frustration or embarrassment, and had to admit that he was very good at hiding at least one of them behind what had looked at first like verbal caution. “I was telling you how you looked. I’m… not sure how the words would come into Common–”

This time, they caught the faintest flustered edge to his voice, and cut casually across him. “Well, as long as it was a compliment…”

“It was,” he said, terse and perhaps sounding a little relieved.

“I can work with that.” They ran a thumb along the line of his jaw, past the sharp points of his teeth. “Sorry. I’ve picked up bits and pieces of different languages here and there, but usually just directions.”

“Well, I wasn’t the one giving those,” said Shattershield, tone level once again.

Max blushed as the decision to push him to the bed started to come into the focus of hindsight. Even without it being a matter that had to consider their ranks within their orders, it had been… bold, to say the least. The heat of the blush went not just to their cheeks but straight down their chest, and they averted their eyes to Shattershield’s shoulder with a clearing of their throat.

Though they couldn’t deny that it had certainly been _enjoyable_ , whether or not it had been wise. And Shattershield certainly made it sound more like an idle observation than anything else, and seemed to have no objection to Max still straddling him.

Perhaps, then, it could not hurt to ask what he _had_ thought of it. The wind outside showed no signs of letting up, after all, and it was certainly not late enough in the evening to be thinking of sleep. They glanced back up to find Shattershield still regarding them, and shifted their hips in a small, none-too-pointed way.

It was still enough to send a soft rush of warmth up through them, the slide of their sensitive skin against scales enough to make their breath hitch. They were just wondering how to phrase such a question, how much of their curiosity to voice, when they became aware of a fresh pressure against the uppermost part of their left thigh. It had a distinctive heat about it, but it still took a beat for Max’s thoughts to catch up and for them to glance down and shift their thigh. Shattershield’s cock slid against the crease where Max’s thigh met their body, hot, rippled – they had not been speaking long, Max had to say, and wondered whether that was a matter of dragonborn. Usually it was orcs that had such lewd jokes made about them, but Max could not speak to the veracity of them.

Shattershield coughed, grabbing at the sheets beside them and pulling them up over both Max’s thigh and his cock. “My – apologies.”

Unless he was apologising for the surprise, Max could not think what Shattershield meant at all. They held up a hand. “I don’t think that many people would complain about not needing to wait,” they said. They could still feel the lingering heat of their blush from his earlier words. “I didn’t know that about dragonborn either.”

There was still enough of a thrum of heat in them to run a hand down his chest, to be interested in more chances to explore him.

“Ah, it’s not…” said Shattershield, gruffness returning to his voice. “It’s the other side. Please don’t feel you have–”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, and Max missed the end of what he said entirely, as they caught the words _other side_ and tumbled them swiftly over in their mind. That Shattershield’s cock now lay against their _left_ thigh when before he had leaned to the right, the brief wait; Max had seen the inside of plenty of books about nature and _those_ had shown the inside of plenty of animals.

“Like snakes?” they blurted out. They had a suspicion there were other creatures similarly endowed, but snakes were the first one that came to mind. They couldn’t tell, from its press against their thigh, whether the shape and ridges of this one were quite the same as the other, but it didn’t stop an impulse to find out. They pushed back their hair, then glanced between the layer of blanket and Shattershield’s face. “Would it be too sensitive, or could I…”

They placed their hand on top of the blanket, beside where his fingers were still curled into the fabric. Shattershield looked… surprised, really.

Gods, _one_ of them was going to have to start speaking more bluntly. Max licked their lips and brushed their hand against Shattershield’s. “If I were to describe this,” they said, pulse starting to speed up again, “I would say it is the _opposite_ of a problem.” They watched his expression shift, subtly, as the words sank in. Tracing their fingertips to and fro on the back of his hand, they gave a more deliberate shift of their hips and flexed the muscles of that thigh. “We can stop here if you want, but I am more than opening to… continuing.”

Those words had to be plain enough, surely? Max felt Shattershield’s cock twitch against their skin, his other hand tightening on their hip. It stung just a fraction, a counterpoint to the rebuilding heat in them. Beneath them, Shattershield swallowed, then with a deep rumbling sound ran his hand down Max’s thigh and up it again.

“If you are interested in further…” his thoughts almost seemed to snag on a word, and he muttered something in Draconic.

To be fair, Max was pretty certain that they didn’t need the exact translation. “I am definitely interested in _further_ ,” they replied. The wind made a buffeting sound outside, but the fire was still bright on the hearth and Shattershield was an almost magnetic presence beneath them. They frankly weren’t much interested in leaving the bed, at least for a while.

With a rough sound, Shattershield released the blankets to push himself up onto one elbow again, nuzzling at the crook of Max’s neck. Already tender, it made Max tremble as his tongue ran along their skin, followed by just a test of teeth that had their fingers digging into him again.

Well, boldness had served them well so far. Max slid their other hand back beneath the blankets, reaching for Shattershield’s cock again. Or, well, reaching for this one for the first time, they supposed.

“I’m staying on top,” they said, with as much voice behind it as they dared.

This time, they recognised the sensation of Shattershield chuckling before he even made a sound. “I expected as much,” he replied.

Max gave a relieved laugh that their boldness had clearly still not gone too far, breaking off into a gasp as Shattershield’s tongue traced up and he nipped as close beneath their ear as his teeth could get purchase. They slipped their hands back down to his skin, and did not bother to hold back the sounds on their lips, as warmth of an altogether intangible sort enveloped them both once again.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Max was aware of, on waking, was the _heat_. They wondered for a foggy second whether they had burrowed under too many blankets in their sleep, but as soon as they moved they felt their legs brush against Shattershield's and memory came crashing back.

They caught their breath, hesitated a moment, and then opened their eyes. It did not help much; the fire had burned so low in the night that Max could not make out much more than the occasional glint of gold-reflected embers beside them. They could hear the wind still gusting outside. Shattershield seemed to still be asleep, turned just slightly onto his right, chest rumbling in a low, steady rhythm which, if it were snoring, was about the most soothing snoring Max had ever heard. Max was tucked against one of his shoulders, one of his arms loosely down their back and hand resting on their hip, his head turned so that, as Max shifted minutely, the top of their head brushed against his chin. The blankets and furs were still piled haphazardly over both of them, by the feel of it.

Other than the heat, it was certainly comfortable. Wrapped around the solid strength of Shattershield's side and hip, and with his arm back around them in return, Max had no desire to actually bother with moving. All the same, the warmth had reached the point of being too much of a good thing. Max reached around on the top of the bed, managed to find a couple of blankets, and pushed them aside. Still within reach, in case the temperature dropped too far, but hopefully shifting enough layers that they would be able to slip back into sleep again.

They pushed their hair aside and went to curl back into place again, nestling against Shattershield's side and into the luxuriant feel of not having to be up with first light or with an order's bells. As they did so, however, Shattershield rolled further onto his side, tugging Max hard against his chest, then startled back with a confusion-edged snort.

“Good morning,” said Max, hoping that Shattershield was not the sort to be too blurry on waking. His crushing hold verged on painful for a moment, then his arm relaxed and Max was able to better breathe again as claws stopped pressing quite so uncomfortably into their hip. They pushed themselves up into his line of vision, preparing a smile that he at least would be able to see in the dark, then were hit by a wave of cold air down their back. “Oh, fuck!”

They almost fell back down in their haste to drag a blanket back around themselves, shiver breaking through before they were quite able to do so. Shattershield caught them, one hand to their back, and tugged across a different layer to cover his own chest as well.

Max sighed and turned to regard Shattershield, or at least to look down in his general direction. “That's not what I originally meant to say.”

“I guessed,” he said. Max heard him shift his head. “The weather is still against travelling.”

“Sounds like it. If the clouds have cleared and it's just wind then it might be passable, but some of that path was precarious even in good weather.”

True, Shattershield would take a certain degree _more_ wind to be pushed off his feet than Max would, but a poorly timed gust could make anyone lose their footing.

Shattershield huffed, trailing off to an almost growling sound. Mad had to say, there was something very pleasant about being able to talk with their legs still hooked across, his hand warm through the blankets at their back. “Do you also have the habit of waking with the first bells?” He said finally.

Max laughed. “Yes.” That did seem to be one thing shared by paladins regardless of their order. “At least, when I can't avoid it.”

“Well, then that probably tells us what time it is.” Shattershield moved again, and this time it must have been more significant as the mattress shifted abruptly and Max was almost pitched downwards. They caught themselves on Shattershield's chest with a yelp, still clutching at the blankets.

“Sorry,” they added, sheepishly, and hopefully in the direction of Shattershield's eyes.

He rumbled. “Of course, you cannot see yet, my apologies. This is why we do not send all-human patrols. I will build the fire again.”

The fire was only a few paces away, Max knew, and the wood beside it, but there was only just enough of a glimmer to prevent them from having even a chance at night vision. Shattershield, for all his injured leg, would at least be able to see where he was going. They should have banked it properly the night before, truth be told, but neither of them had been capable of even thinking of doing so by the time they had exhausted themselves on each other.

“Just be careful with your leg,” they said, by way of capitulation. “Don't let the muscle seize in the cold. I won't be able to see to help this time.”

Having rested, he would have regained his own ability to lay on his hands, but Max would still rather not see it used on avoidable pains.

“I appreciate that I said it had been some time since I had been in a snowstorm,” said Shattershield levelly, “but I have not forgotten everything about the cold.”

He did not sound offended, at least, although Max did hope he was not simply hiding it behind the same level tone. They tucked a blanket more securely about themselves, expecting more cold air to assail them before too long. “Sorry. Too used to chasing up newcomers and the sort of people who forget their paperwork,” they replied.

To their relief, Shattershield chuckled. “True. I can imagine I might do the same, after years controlling newer recruits.”

Frankly, Max had two reasons to be glad that they had not found themselves newly inducted to an order under Shattershield. For one thing, there was no way he was anything but terrifying to new recruits, but for another Max was not convinced they would not have been desperately attracted to him anyway. Which would have been far less appropriate within the same order.

“I will be back in a moment.”

The entire mattress shifted as Shattershield rose, and at least one blanket must have gone with him to judge by the slither of fabric. Max reached out to feel for the wall beside them, then shuffled over so that they could lean up against it, pulling their feet back from a cold area of the bed into which they strayed.

At first, they could hear more than see, sparks of fire in the darkness accompanied by the sound of shifting wood and the clatter of smaller pieces from the woodpile. Thank the gods _that_ had been well-stocked. Bit by bit, Shattershield came into better view, glimmering in the growing fire even with one blanket about his shoulders and another tied about his waist. He built with deft hands, and light swelled to fill the room again, the edge coming off the cold in the air once again. At the very least, it no longer stung the nostrils to breathe.

Shattershield selected a piece from the fire, raised it to his mouth, and cupped it with one hand as he blew onto it. Max could not see whether he breathed flame or simply coaxed it, but as he placed it back into the fire it was certainly far more aflame. The flames licked almost at his fingertips as he adjusted a few more pieces. When it must have finally been up to his standards, he straightened up and returned to the bed, sitting down with rather less of a heavy drop this time around.

“The cold would certainly suggest it is still snowing outside,” he said. “If you don't object to me returning...”

The last thing Max was thinking of was kicking him _out_ of the bed. As their body finished waking, the last weight of sleep falling off their shoulders, they could feel the languid warmth of the muscles in their thighs and abdomen, feel the scattering of bruises and scratches across their skin. Memories of last night felt more appealing even than slipping back into sleep.

“I certainly wouldn't wish the cold on you,” they said, pulling aside the blankets that remained in what they hoped was a welcoming manner. Shattershield certainly seemed to take it as such, slipping with masterful grace back into the nest of blankets without any abrupt transition from the ones he had been draped in. Max held back from touching him, at least for a moment. “Although however you want to go about warming up, I'm certainly open to it.”

If he did want to return to sleep, they certainly understood, and honestly if he was not interested in any repeats of the previous night then they would be disappointed but not at all offended. Neither of them had started a discussions of such things, after all. They would gladly put clothes back on if he asked – although they did note he had not taken the time to retrieve his own – or put a layer or two of blankets back between them. The heat of his body and the shared blankets, though, were not something they were at all interested in giving up.

Shattershield propped himself back up on his right elbow; for that side, at least, Max held back from admonishing him. His expression was back to being inscrutable at first, but then Max caught the faint curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth and he reached out to scoop them closer again.

“I was not sure how you would feel by morning,” he said, as Max slid back so that their bodies fell together again beneath the sheets. Gods, even after being out in the colder air, his skin was so warm to the touch that it made their toes curl. “Last night was… impulsive.”

Well, he wasn’t _wrong_ about that. “True,” said Max, sliding hands down Shattershield’s chest and over the subtle texture of his scales. “But impulses can… work out.”

Shattershield rumbled, nosing against the crook of their neck and then nipping softly at the muscle there. It ached like a bruise, and still sent a shiver of arousal down Max’s spine.

“I will say that I’m not normally _this_ impulsive,” Max continued, as Shattershield shifted down against them. The warmth of his breath gave way to his tongue wrapping around their nipple, drawing it to hardness in a moment. “Oh gods.” There was an _agility_ to his tongue, rolling across their skin in a way that simply wouldn’t be possible for a human. It tightened, relaxed, drew away slightly as his teeth brushed the underside of their breast. “Last night was…” Had been exigent circumstances, they wanted to say, but that was difficult when Shattershield’s hands were running up their thighs.

They _did_ , however, notice that he was rolling them slowly onto their back on the bed. Difficult as _that_ was to draw away from, Max did so.

“Really, I _was_ insistent that you stay on your back for a reason,” they said. Shattershield had slid down most of the way among the blankets, and it would have been comical were they not concentrating on looking stern. “Your leg is–”

“Was helped back together by the magic of Egbert the Careless, yes, I _am_ aware,” said Shattershield. He raised his head, cold air getting in between them, and Max felt goosebumps rise on their skin in a way that, unfairly, only seemed to emphasise his heat. “With as much as I can ask of my own god that I might actually be able to get down this mountain and to someone who can cast the spell to return me to Mistmire. However,” he continued, just as levelly, “I feel quite confident that what I have in mind will _not_ be a danger to its integrity.”

Whether he was intentionally invoking Max’s curiosity or not, Max did not know. They had certainly surprised even themselves with how strict they had managed to be about Shattershield either staying on his back or being seated, but even when he had growled in frustration he had simply redirected his attentions and his efforts back to their body.

“You’ve been up to do the fire already–” Max began.

Shattershield grunted, and in a move that he made look far too easy picked Max bodily off the bed and turned them to be half-sitting against the pillows, blankets bedraggled around their shoulders. The dragged one down across their bare chest as the air stung, but Shattershield had managed as well to position himself between their legs, a hot, solid weight of muscle. Their thighs pressed against his sides, and it was certainly getting more difficult to keep their expression stern.

“If you wish to give me orders within this bed, that is one thing,” said Shattershield, and Max felt their cheeks redden both at the memories it drew up and at the casualness with which he said it. “But I would ask that you do not coddle me outside of it.”

Technically, Max almost went to point out, they _were_ still within the bed, but even with very little inflection Shattershield had managed to make himself abundantly clear. Following it up with a teasing trace of claws down the back of the thigh was really… an unnecessary making of his point. At least with the way that Max’s legs were starting to shake.

“I understand,” they said, managing to not make it sound _too_ much like a gasp.

“Now,” Shattershield bowed his head again, and ran his tongue over Max’s stomach through a gap between the blankets. It burned hot-and-cold. “May I put my mouth to better use than talking about an injury I can do nothing more about?”

“Mm-hmm.” It came out not much more than a squeak as Max did their best not to squirm. Having Shattershield ask _permission_ like that was… well, it was playing an unexpectedly significant role in how much warmer the room seemed to be, for a start.

Shattershield gave another one of those deep, purr-like rumbles that vibrated through his whole chest and down through Max’s skin as well, and slipped further down into the nest of blankets. His tongue traced down the crease of their thigh, hot and firm and delicately following the fold, and Max gasped.

Okay, maybe they had been rather _too_ cautious about Shattershield’s leg. Their shoulders and throat were still pleasantly sore from the attention of his mouth the night before, their nipples having been treated far more tenderly. Now the flat of his tongue ran straight along the centre of them, not quite firm enough but _gods_ the trailing tip of his tongue parting them to reach even more sensitive skin beneath was enough to make them moan.

Shattershield _explored_ them with his tongue, long slow drags against their skin pressing deeper on each pass. Waves of heat seemed to roll up from the touch through Max’s body, and they pressed their lips together to muffle the sounds behind them. They had become less quiet as time went on, the night before, but they could not bring themselves to cry out just yet.

His tongue curled around their clit, pressing and teasing from impossible angles, caress on caress. Hidden beneath the blankets, Shattershield moved again, and Max felt his shoulder slip beneath one of their legs, holding them open to him as his tongue ran along them again.

Their legs shook as he rumbled against them, mouth pressed right to their skin, and the feeling of it shot straight through them. Max yelped, hand beneath the blanket reaching downwards to find Shattershield’s forehead and searching until they found his horns to run a shaking hand over. For a moment, Shattershield seemed to pause.

Oh. Oh, fuck, that probably looked like a _bad_ thing, not like they were desperately seeking to touch him in whatever way they could. Like their hands were itching to run along the warmth of him, like the trembling of their thighs was not from wanting only to push closer.

“Please don’t stop,” said Max, words tumbling over themselves. Shattershield grunted a reply, then returned his tongue to its work with another deep vibrating sound, and Max whimpered through closed lips as it ran through them.

They had asked before the first time touching his horns, at least, somewhere in the depths of the night before. _Not to – steer, just to touch you_ , they had blurted, and Shattershield had breathed something in Draconic before replying with a taut _gods yes_. Now they ran their hand blindly over his skin, unable to think of somehow steering him even if they had wanted to, as his tongue rippled and flicked faster at their clit again.

They gasped for him, but already his tongue was trailing down again, parting them, brushing at their entrance. Max’s back arched as his tongue slipped inside, firm and deliberate in the curves it traced, Shattershield’s claws digging into their hips again as they began to shift beneath him. This time the murring sound from his throat seemed to be _everywhere_ , rippling on his tongue, leaving Max shivering and barely in one piece around him.

His tongue pressed deeper. That – oh fuck, of course that would be a thing, they had never exactly thought about what a dragonborn’s tongue could do before but now it was all too obvious. Deliberate strokes against their walls, coaxing whimpers from their lips and bringing their heels digging against his back, and then deliberate shallow _thrusts_ that left Max gasping, cursing, hips arching up against him.

Then his arm moved, the one not already beneath their thigh, and before Max knew it there was a touch to their clit again, firm small circles of pressure. This time they did cry out, throwing their head back as his fingers stoked the fire his tongue had started, double-pressure and double-pleasure assailing them. It broke off into a faint whining sound as his tongue withdrew only to plunge deep again, actively seeking those places which his cock had been able to reach more by chance.

“Don’t – don’t stop,” they said, feeling climax already beginning to tighten in their gut. Shattershield grunted, acknowledgement, and the feel of it was almost enough to pitch them over the edge.

With a growl, he let his fingers grow faster, until Max’s right leg was shaking uncontrollably against his back, until they were wound tight almost to the point of pain around his touch. This time it was more like falling shards of ice than one great explosion; Max gasped as the first steady waves of it rolled through them, cool and clear and almost soothing, then cried out as they grew in intensity to wrack them. Shattershield held their hips still as they writhed against him, muscles clenching in flurries along his tongue until abruptly, sharply in a way that Max had never understood, it turned to something too sweet and painful.

This time, it was more of a shudder that ran through them. “Just a moment,” they said. Their voice cracked, and their mouth was dry as they tried to swallow. “One moment, gods. Too much.”

Shattershield’s fingers stilled, and as Max fell still they felt his tongue slip from them only to draw a long, gentle line along them again. It stopped shy of their clit, not close enough to do more than stir the warmth already settled in their belly They opened their eyes again to see the firelight playing on the beams of the wooden ceiling above them, and wondered what they could have done to earn a blizzard that had brought on _this_.

“Thank you,” they said, as they regained their breath and the silence grew too strong again. As soon as the words had left their lips, they pulled a quizzical face to themselves, wondering where in all the realms _that_ had come from.

Sure enough, the pause and cock of Shattershield’s head, tilting the blankets, had an air of confusion about it. He raised his head, pushing aside the blanket across his face but not the one right across the top of his head, and as Max glanced down at him the picture he cut was utterly absurd.

A snort of laughter burst from them, then as Shattershield frowned they could not help it and laughed aloud.

“I’m sorry,” they managed between their laughter. They waved a hand, then reached down and pushed the blanket still on his head aside. “You just really looked like a crocodile rising out of the water just then.”

Shattershield blinked, then gave a weary-sounding sigh and looked down at Max’s abdomen in a look that they recognised as disappointment. They almost pointed out to him that now he looked like a _disappointed_ crocodile, but resisted the urge and bit the inside of their lip. He did not look put out, though, more as if he were tolerantly waiting for the joke to pass, amused by their amusement.

“In my defence, the thanks _was_ genuine,” they said, collecting themselves. Shattershield drummed his claws against their skin.

“Hmm. Just an unusual decision to declare it, then,” Shattershield said, voice still grave but a warmer expression in his eyes and curling at the corner of his mouth.

Max ran fingers along his jaw. “I thought it was expected for paladins to be polite.”

He snorted. “What paladins have you been spending time with?”

Even with the usual dryness of his tone, they were _fairly_ sure that it was one comments that were as close as he ever came to jokes. The speed of it, though, only left them able to retort instinctively rather than thinking about their reply. “The wrong ones, until recently, apparently.”

They didn’t _intend_ it to be a reference about the fact that their thighs were still about his shoulders, but somehow it started to sound like one as soon as they had said it, and they blushed. Shattershield paused, gave an indecipherable grumble, then ran his tongue along the line of their hipbone and nipped just at the top of their thigh.

“You made a very good case to the Council, you know,” said Max, voice softening a little. It was probably an absurd position from which to be having a conversation, but there was not so much they could do about that. The weight of Shattershield’s shoulders was more than enough to hold them in place with ease. “To get the right to have use of the balloon. It was the brave thing to do, as well as the right one.”

Not always the same thing, no matter what some people seemed to assume. Shattershield rested his chin on their thigh.

“Hmm. As long as the Council does not take badly to the state in which it will return.”

“I think even a wizard skilled in divination would be hard-pressed to have seen _that_ coming,” said Max.

Gods, it had seemed to happen so _fast_ : the looming cloud face of a stranger; Merilwen holding them apart with her magic; magical blades shearing through the air around them. Then the helplessness of falling, the hollow terror of the air, before someone – they thought it was Merilwen again – had grabbed them and their fall had seemed to slow, though it had not felt like enough at the time, before they slammed against the ground.

It felt… strangely distant, for being less than two days gone. There had been simply _nothing_ that Max could have done, no spell they knew or power they could have called upon, and that knowledge had been so overwhelming that it was almost like they forgot that they were supposed to be afraid. When they had awoken, the ability to do anything at all had actually been what had actually started the pounding of their heart and the taste of fear in their throat, and latching onto Shattershield’s injury as the party bickered had brought the world back into focus again.

“Max.” Shattershield was tapping against the side of their ribs, and they realised that this time they truly had lost track of the moment as their mind wandered. Perhaps it was a good thing they had not tried to use that excuse the day before when staring at Shattershield himself. “Max.”

“Sorry,” they said. “I was thinking about what happened.” Yes, the balloon, that had been the thought that had started the train of thought. “You definitely can’t be held accountable for Lilliana’s actions. And as I said, I’ll let the Inspectors Order know there’s been an attack against, well, multiple paladins, I suppose.” They weren’t sure whether to count it as two or three, considering Egbert clearly still had the use of his powers but was no longer of Shattershield’s order.

“That is all very well,” said Shattershield, “but I merely asked if you heard what I said.”

Well, that attempt to slip normally back into conversation had clearly gone badly wrong. Max sighed, tugging the blankets a little more closely about their chest. “I was remembering the balloon coming down,” they admitted. Shattershield untucked himself from beneath their thigh, which was probably a good thing before their muscles started to get stiff, and leant on one elbow above them. “I wasn’t as frightened as I would have guessed, actually.”

“I don’t remember striking the ground or anything else,” Shattershield replied. For a moment, his gaze seemed to settle on Max’s shoulder instead of their face, and his claws raked gently, absently, back and forth against their side. “I couldn’t even tell you if there were injuries other than my leg.”

There were bruises starting to come out from deep beneath Max’s skin, on their side and back, which were almost certainly from the fall as well. Shattershield had been the one to see them by the firelight, but even by then they had gone from being part of a general soreness to something not even worth worrying about.

Max huffed. “I’ve seen some injuries before,” they said. “But never _that_ bone through skin.”

“Neither have I,” he said, without missing a beat. “Not without explosives having been involved, at least. Is this the part where you remind me I should not be putting any weight on it?”

From how he was lying, Max doubted there was much pressure at all, but propping himself up even a little would be stretching out the muscles there. “Yes,” they said, in their best impression of stern. It probably did not count for much while naked beneath a disarray of blankets, and Shattershield was giving them a soft smile that was still more expressive than most anything they had seen from him, but they tried.

With a faint chuckle, Shattershield allowed Max to extricate themselves, then rolled obediently onto his back and slid his hands into place on their thighs as they straddled him again. They still had one of the blankets around their shoulders, air chilly, but as they bent down they were able to find clear stretches of his skin to press stray kisses to. A rumble ran through him, too low to hear but able to be felt through his skin.

Max looked up, found themselves close to the end of Shattershield’s snout, and pressed a kiss to his lip. It met with as much tooth as skin, but did spark a different curiosity all of its own. Shifting upwards, and having to shuffle against Shattershield’s body to do so even as he looked vaguely, politely, confused, Max ran a hand along the underside of his jaw.

“Can I try something?” they said.

“You may have to be more specific,” said Shattershield. “I am always wary of the word ‘try’.”

They had to admit, after meeting some paladins over the years – for that matter, after meeting Egbert and his friends – that was probably a sensible caution. Max tucked back their hair as best they could behind their ear. “Try to kiss you, then,” they said.

Confusion returned to his expression, in the slight furrow of the brow and tilt of his head. Max cupped one hand around end of his snout, then when that still felt strangely exposed sat up a little more and put their other hand to the other side. Leaning in, they kissed the scales above his mouth softly, then over his teeth, then below and back up again in faster succession.

They ran their thumb along… well, it was not quite his lips, exactly; dragonborn did not have those in the same way. But along his mouth, pressing just enough for him to open it for them, enough for them to slip their tongue between.

Shattershield gasped, drawing back a fraction, as Max traced their tongue over what they could reach of the roof of his mouth. An absurd, small section, perhaps. As he jerked away, they went to withdraw altogether, but then his hand was at their upper arm to hold them in place and his tongue brushed against their lower lip in return.

It was… not quite the same. No soft, full lips to trace, but the clearer border where his scales gave way to the soft inside of his mouth. They could feel the sharpness of his teeth as their tongue brushed past them, but… trusted him. As if putting one’s tongue between someone’s teeth did not always require a level of trust. Max closed their eyes, kissing at the boundary of his scales, running their tongue against his, gasping as his tongue slipped past to trace their mouth in turn and all but wrap _around_ their tongue.

It felt clumsy, truth be told. Shattershield would push a little too much with his tongue, and Max would have to draw back a fraction to gasp for air, or Max’s teeth would catch at the edge of scales and Shattershield would make a small, startled movement. It certainly took more _concentration_ than a regular kiss. But as Shattershield sighed against them, his hand softening to rub their upper arm, Max could not help a smile.

They finally drew away, to kiss beneath his jaw to a grunt of surprise, and then to let their lips trace along his skin and down his neck. Shattershield chuckled breathlessly, tilting his head to give them better access to his throat until they drew their lips back up towards the ticklish not-spines with a spike of mischief.

He gave a slight shake of his head, rustling them, and Max accepted the very obvious distraction of the hand that he slid up to caress their cheek and run a thumb over their lower lips. They bit softly at his fingertips, then sucked gently at his thumb as they turned their eyes back to his again.

“Trial successful?” he said.

“I believe so,” Max replied. They kissed down to the inside of his wrist, not quite able to feel the pulse through his skin but still feeling somehow… close to it. “Though that rather depends on how you feel about it.”

He grunted, though it sounded like consideration. “Nobody’s ever… tried that before,” he said finally, slowly. Max hesitated, still with their lips to his skin, not sure whether that was a positive statement on the matter or not. “It was strange. But pleasant.”

It might not have been the most effusive of praises, but coming from Shattershield meant that Max knew he meant every word of it. They turned their attention to his chest, over the faint scar on the left of it, tongue picking out its shape against his scales. With their other hand they searched downwards again, the shape of his body already growing familiar and needing less of his own guidance now. The change of the scales where he had first led their fingers was subtle, but they could feel it now, the slightly ridged effect as each scale became less smooth beneath their fingertips. Shattershield’s breath hitched as Max’s fingers massaged their way down, better able to gauge the pressure now besides, coaxing out his cock with eager touch.

“I would make a joke about being polite,” they said, “but I fear you would appreciate if I did not.”

“That is very–” Shattershield caught his breath again as Max’s fingers brushed the head of his cock where it was appearing. “Much appreciated, yes.”

Max laughed against his skin; he had seemed so unflappably stern, as they had first left the Citadel, and it had only been when he had spoken about Egbert, about regretting how things had ended, that Max had seen some more of the person behind it all. Another couple of days of guiding him had teased out the first dry comments, and Max had watched the minute shifts between the different shades of his silence or grunted non-comments. There were certainly depths beneath the unwavering, strict captain, although in Max’s opinion that demeanour _suited_ him to say the least.

Though it _had_ still been funny to see how flustered he looked when Prudence asked if the balloon journey was some sort of date, instead of the peace offering it was clearly meant as. Clearly meant to Max’s mind, at least, although maybe that was another paladin thing.

A glance up showed that Shattershield was not bothering to cover up his chest again, even as Max’s movement downwards dragged the warm mess of blankets and layers with them. Their mouth followed the ripples of his muscles as their hand urged on his cock, thumb running over the pearl-like bumps along its underside. The expanse of glimmering scales made progress seem torturous, but Max kept the movement of their mouth slow and deliberate, that of their hand firm and steady, as they shifted down. Sure, so it was partially to make absolutely certain that they did not catch an ankle on the claws of his feet, where his knees were slightly bent beside them, but watching his breath grow faster and deeper was not a _bad_ side-effect.

He hissed as Max pushed aside the blanket and exposed his cock to the air, then gave a rather different and lower hiss as Max’s mouth joined their hand at its work. They pressed their mouth to the base of him and let it roam upwards, tongue tracing arcs and patterns on his skin. Along the underside, their hand still cupped to stroke the upper side of him, until they could wrap their lips around the head and hear Shattershield growl.

Honestly, if Max had realised quite so much about the tongues of dragonborn they might not have been so confident the first time they had used their mouth on him the night before. But considering he had already made his feelings about Max’s mouth abundantly clear, more from the sounds that he made and the responses of his body than from the awkward Common or the Draconic that Max did not speak, Max could at least feel confident now.

They ran their tongue across the head of his cock, then teased more carefully at the slit as their fingers ran up and down his shaft. Whatever Shattershield said, it was unintelligible, and Max smiled to themselves as they wrapped their lips around him to take him into their mouth.

His thighs tensed as Max sucked gently and let their tongue continue to roam, one hand still on his hip for balance as the other kept a steady rhythm. The shape of the head made it a little easier in their mouth, left room to take their tongue right around him, and as they broke away to kiss and lap their way down again their hand slipped back up to tease just at that point beneath the head. Which, it turned out, was plenty sensitive for dragonborn as well.

Shattershield said their name, close to a growl still, but his touch was careful as it wound into their hair. Their scalp tingled beneath his claws. Max put more pressure behind their hand, thumb making firm strokes up the underside of the shaft as they had discovered he seemed to prefer. Mouth around him again, they gave shallow bobs of their head, feeling the restrained coil of muscle in him as he fought not to thrust against them. Into their hand, he could, but Max at least was more concerned about the risks of their teeth on sensitive parts. Tough dragonborn skin did not reach _that_ far.

They leant their weight against Shattershield’s hips, feeling him rock back up against them only to restrain himself. They sucked down the side of his shaft and ran their tongue back up again, working harder with their tongue until they felt low growls in each one of Shattershield’s breaths, until his claws trembled against their skin and his next use of their name was as a gasp.

Max could recognise the way that Shattershield’s thighs tensed, and sharply tapped his hip in acknowledgement and agreement before swallowing around the head of his cock. With a wordless, guttural sound and an arch of his back, Shattershield let his hips rock against them, and Max sped up the pace of their hand and the movements of their tongue. The rippled feel of the cock in their hand, the slick heat against their skin; gods, they were trembling themselves all over again, feeling him shudder for a moment on the edge and tasting him afresh on their tongue.

He came in short judders against their tongue, as Max ran one last firm stroke up his cock and swallowed against him. As he fell back against the bed, breathing raggedly, they wiped their mouth on the back of their hand and climbed back up his body, doing their best to restrain the want searing in their bones but not entirely sure that they succeeded.

Shattershield rumbled deep in his chest and play with Max’s hair. Not that they had yet been able to bring themselves to _tell_ him that was the best word for what he was doing, when it put warmth in their chest to see him soften and grow distracted as his fingers twined in and untwined from their curls.

“It would be remiss of me if we just stayed here the entire day,” said Max. Shattershield paused the movements of his hand to look at them properly again. “I should probably at least check what the weather looks like now. If it’s still snowing, or just wind…”

“I would advise breakfast first,” he replied. To be fair, Max had been assuming that. “I’m afraid it will be more of the same as yesterday.”

“I might find better supplies in the cupboards when I’m not half-frozen,” they admitted. Shattershield chuckled. “Really, though.” They ran their hands down his chest, by way of something of an apology. “I’ve eaten far worse. And far less.”

“You eat like an initiate during their first moult,” Shattershield said. It was probably not meant to be a compliment, but it somehow felt like one, and Max threw back their head and laughed at how he managed to sound bewildered, faintly concerned, and reluctantly impressed all in the same sentence. He ran a hand up their thigh to the taut line of their waist. “No wonder you have energy to spare.”

There were two ways that sentence could be meant, and Max honestly did not know which one of them Shattershield intended. They did their best to keep a straight face, still naked and astride him, until his gaze skimmed up from their stomach to their face and something in their expression must have given it away.

“I – oh, gods.” Shattershield sighed heavily, looking aside, as Max bit their lip not to laugh. “I did _not_ mean it in that sense, I meant when you had energy to spare as we were journeying…” another sigh escaped him, and he shook his head. “Truly, I disappointed myself that time.”

“You kept up well enough,” said Max, keeping their voice as level as they could. Shattershield eyed them warily. “Journeying from Mistmire out, of course.”

Shattershield shook his head slowly, and Max could see that the disappointment on his face was feigned both by the look in his eyes and by the way that one corner of his mouth was just threatening to curl into a smile. Max reached out to brush the curl with their thumb, then traced their fingers down Shattershield’s throat.

The bed was like its own sort of hallowed ground. Waking up only to tangle back up in each other was one thing, but once they were out of the bed… well. There was the chance that the weather would break, and they would continue on their way to the village below so that Shattershield could find someone to cast the spell to return him to Mistmire.

Max leant their head into Shattershield’s palm. “How long is it since you even took a day for yourself?” they said.

He grunted. “I fear I cannot answer that question.”

And even here, to be fair, it was the power coursing through _him_ that was providing them with food. Max shifted their weight forward, tilting their hips towards him, and Shattershield gave a knowing glance down their body.

“I have some energy left before breakfast, I believe,” they said.

Shattershield huffed, but smiled. He sat up, with a grunt of annoyance as the mattress swayed beneath them and Max was almost knocked out of his lap. Catching them around the waist again in one arm, Shattershield moved back along the bed so that he was more seated than lying down, Max pulled into his chest.

They took the opportunity, and pressed a kiss to the proffered skin of his shoulder, followed by a drag of their teeth. His claws rippled against their back.

“Hmm. Lucky for you that I do keep up,” said Shattershield.

His own teeth were much more pronounced against Max’s shoulder, and they moaned at the pressure on tender skin. His other hand slid down between their thighs, careful strokes of his fingers that turned caution of his claws into an aching tease. Every touch was so slow and delicate that Max found themselves starting to shake with tension, brush after brush, not quite regular, not quite firm enough, delicately opening them up around his touch.

“Too well,” Max said, running their hand down between his thighs again. The other gripped his shoulder, trying to rock into his hand as, with another soft chuckle, he pinned their hips in place to prevent them. “Oh, gods.”

His tongue ran along their shoulder, up to their neck, until he had to nudge their hair aside with his snout to let his tongue flick at their earlobe. The shift of his muscles let them know that their teasing touch was rewarded, and Max moved their hand quickly to the head of his other cock, to coax it out in turn.

 _Other_ cock. Gods, those words would have surprised them a couple of days ago. But then Shattershield ran his teeth over the top part of their chest, flicking towards their collarbone, and the groan that left their lips next was wound with frustration.

His fingers brushed up past their clit, and Max threw back their head with a shiver of something like desperation; his touch burned against them, his breath on their skin and his cock weighty on their hand, but the seconds felt like an eternity as his tongue and his nibbling teeth traced back over their skin again in neat lines.

It felt a little bit like each time made them want him more. They weren’t sure how to think of that just yet.

With one last circling touch around their clit, Shattershield’s hand slipped free and his hips rolled up to meet theirs. After the night – and with no oils to be found in the cabin to ease things along more – Max found their skin more sensitive to the touch, still feeling as if Shattershield’s tongue had barely left them despite the time between. They gasped as he slid home, holding on tightly as their body remembered and as their thighs settled comfortably about him.

Shattershield was making that low purr-like sound again, one hand wet on Max’s thigh, the other stroking up and down their spine. They rolled against him, subtle movements, getting the feel of their balance until they could toss their hair back, push back and down against his shoulders, and properly move against him.

His hand tightened on their thigh as they pushed him into the pillows, wood creaking slightly beneath them. Even now, it was not as if their body quite knew him; he still felt… unexpected, exciting, an unpredictable pattern of sensation with each stroke that smouldered down them. Shattershield let them pin him as they rode him, his breath rough with _want_ over the whispering sound of his scales against their skin and the occasional whining sound that caught on the edge of Max’s breath.

Max braced their hands against Shattershield’s chest, moving faster, deep and sure together with each thrust as they found a rhythm against him again. Encouraging murmurs slipped from his lips, half-hissed as his hands moved in time to urge them on.

They were not even chasing a climax, gods, the waves of pleasure washing through them quite enough without chasing some further peak. Max could feel the start of soreness in their thighs, the trickle of sweat on their back, as they controlled the pace against him.

Shattershield muttered in Draconic again, something else with their name in it. His hand ran up their thigh to squeeze at their ass, and Max pressed in with his touch until they were grinding, in shorter, shallower movements, against the base of his cock and the subtle thickening there.

The slightest change in the angle of Shattershield’s hips, and Max moaned at the difference that it made to the feel of him. “Oh gods,” they breathed, leaning into his body again and tucking themselves against his chest. Their words still came out somewhere closer to the base of his neck than to his ear, his ragged panting seemingly all around them. “How do you feel this good?”

The words were spoken before they even realised it, thought spilling aloud against his skin as both of his hands now cupped the back of their thighs, following their movements. It made controlling the movement easier as he took some of their weight, and Max ran a hand up to the back of his neck to run their fingers over the delicate fine scales half-hidden beneath whatever the hell those not-spines were.

“I don’t know,” whispered Shattershield, so soft that Max almost did not hear it at all and even then took a moment to be sure it was not something of their imagination. He gave a throaty growl as Max pressed down to the base of him in slow, rocking movements, hips tight to hips. With the tenderness of the night, it felt almost impossible, even the subtlest thickening at the base of him just enough to leave Max breathless, _full_ , muscles tightening around him. “I don’t – _god_ , Max –”

His hips bucked as he came, shuddering, and Max planted one hand against the wooden wall behind him to ride out the motions of his body. They felt the rush of heat between their thighs, the pleasurable curl in their stomach, but Shattershield released his tight hold on their thighs to snake his arms around them, wrapping them in hot bands of iron-hard muscle as he nuzzled at the base of their neck.

For a moment, Max still could not catch their breath, not so much from the tightness of his hold but from the overwhelming feel of him, the moment of utter security in his hold and coiled around him in return. His nails scratched lightly at the nape of her neck, and they could feel a deep rumbling in his chest as soothing as a heartbeat.

As Shattershield’s own breath returned to normal, his hold slackened a little even if he did not move away, and eventually Max shifted as their thighs started to get sore from being pressed wide open against his hips. They squirmed upwards, kissed Shattershield’s jaw in what they hoped was an apologetic manner, only for their stomach to give an undeniable rumble of its own in a fit of either pique or bad timing.

Shattershield huffed, sound vaguely amused. He shifted his legs in turn, stretching them out until Max could feel the tense-and-relax of the muscles underneath where they sat, and though his arms stayed around Max he did soften their hold.

“It sounds like I was right in thinking of breakfast,” he said, still quietly. He brought a blanket up and tucked it around Max’s shoulders, which probably _was_ a better idea before the cold started to seep in, to be fair.

“My stomach is also used to being up with the first bells, I guess,” Max replied. They accepted the blanket, wrapping it around their shoulders and drape down their arms. At least both their clothes would be dried, by now, and the room was a reasonable temperature again. “If you want to see that it’s warm, I can check the cupboards again. Maybe some preserved fruit, or some honey.”

There had been a few things at Suzette’s which Max had sniffed carefully, trying to determine if they were food or some sort of experiment, before deciding not to risk it and putting them back again. At least pretty much everything in this cabin had seemed quite normal, and reasonably identifiable, when they had passed cold-rattled and distracted attention over it the day before. They doubted they were going to find pickled spiders or anything similarly unusual, although they supposed they could always offer anything of that nature to Shattershield if he still considered the food they had dull.

They glanced over; Shattershield’s robes were still on the chair, hanging a little stiffly and probably in need of having the layers separated but at least dry. Searching the bed turned up the oversized memorial shirt again, and Max pulled it on as Shattershield chuckled again and shook his head. It was more rumpled than it had been, and cold at first, but at least meant that a single shift of the blanket did not let cold air immediately knife through to their skin.

“Well, I’m glad that you’re allowing me back up again at all,” said Shattershield, turning to sit on the edge of the bed as Max stood up.

They huffed hair out of their eyes as they looked round, stuffing their socks under one arm to warm them up before they had to pull them on. “I… presumed that fell under the ‘no coddling’,” they said, instead of pointing out that they were still intending to be the one moving around more. While he was no longer actively in pain with his leg, they _did_ intend to do their best to prevent Shattershield from hurting it further.

Shattershield smiled for a moment, softer, then sighed as his expression grew somewhat more serious again. “All that said, I do… deeply appreciate everything that you have done regarding my injury and its consequences.”

It didn’t feel like the most usual conversation to be having when Max could feel wetness on their inner thigh. They stood with their legs closer together, and glanced around for where they had managed to leave their underwear the night before. Ah, yes, tangled up in their trousers, that had been it. But at least it indicated Shattershield thought of that as quite separate to their ending up in bed together which, well. Seeing him injured had certainly thrown certain of Max’s feelings into sharper relief, but the physical attraction had already solidly taken root. And it had been the snowstorm, far more than Shattershield’s injury, which had driven them into the cabin.

They swallowed. “It was… the only right thing,” they said, with a shrug. “I wish I could have been of more assistance.”

“I think this is beyond the work of my order, as well,” said Shattershield ruefully, rubbing at the scar. “But we have contacts with clerics of significant power, who know spells that can heal or regenerate more significant injuries. They have aided us before after battles.” He went to stand up, then paused for a moment. “I seem to recall one of them saying it seemed easier to heal dragonborns. Something about lizards that grew back tails.” A shake of his head, and then Shattershield pushed up. The movement was done so as to protect his left leg, Max noted, at least. “I can’t say I was listening much. I was trying to help reattach a man’s arm.”

“You see, that story makes _sense_ ,” said Max. Shattershield paused, blanket around his waist, and looked over curiously. Max stepped over to the bed and retrieved their underwear, pulling them on despite the cold fabric. “Battle, lost arm, healing. I swear, whenever you tell a story about Egbert and his friends, it makes _less_ sense the more I hear of it.”

“Ah. Yes, Egbert had that effect even by himself. I am not surprised he has found companions with similar tendencies.” Shattershield watched Max as they pulled on socks, a little stiff with sweat from the day before and not the best thing they had ever worn but still better than bare feet in the chilly morning. “Hmm. In the caves, when we were talking. I believe you mentioned something about steeds.”

They had been talking about whatever Shattershield had _wanted_ to talk about, to be honest, or at least whatever he had seemed to turn the conversation. Between bloodloss and pain, he had managed to sleep only fitfully, though arguing about religion with the gnomes had seemed to sharpen his focus somewhat. “Oh, yes,” said Max. “I think I mentioned it talking about the Trials.”

Shattershield nodded. “I shall teach you the spell, if we are to remain here for another day.”

“What?” Max blinked at him, freezing in place. “You…”

“My order usually speaks the prayers to find a steed in Draconic, but some of our human members struggle with its sounds, so there is also a Common version,” Shattershield continued. He crossed to the table to pick up the pot again, glanced into it, and still looked unimpressed with what he found but did put the lid back on and turn towards the fire. “If nothing else, it will be easier to get the balloon down the mountain with two steeds to carry it.”

Max had really hoped that the Trials would be enough in their favour to see them promoted within the order, but unfortunately between some of the questions raised about Egbert’s fight with the minotaur and the number of people Max had confirmed to be _former_ paladins rather than continuing ones, it had apparently not been all that impressive. “Those spells are normally taught to those of a higher rank within the Inspectors Order,” they said carefully. There weren’t _technically_ rules against learning spells from other orders, but generally there was not time to, and some members of the Inspectors Order seemed to think themselves as better than, rather than simply parallel to, the other orders that they oversaw.

“Yes, and from what I have seen of you in your work and heard you say of your combat, your competence makes your superiors concerned that your replacement will be worse when they do promote you.” He fixed them with a very steady gaze. “Believe me, I know management.”

“And the… wrong message…” Max gestured to the shirt that they were wearing. They should have confirmed the truth themselves, it was as clear as crystal now. How often did rumours spread of the death of some figure or other? True, it was normally someone rather more famous than Egbert the Careless, but it still annoyed them that they had not _checked_.

Shattershield looked down at the shirt himself, then back up again. “One of his own companions gave you the news. I do not think you are much to blame.” As Max paused for another, uncertain moment, a flicker of worry crossed his face and he returned to setting the pot beside the fire and reaching for more wood to add. “If you do not wish to learn it from me, then I understand,” he began.

“No, I do,” Max blurted. Even if they were not at all sure they would be able to access such magic, especially in a short space of time, Shattershield did have a point about it making progress down the mountain easier. “I… yes. I would appreciate that.”

“Good.” Shattershield gave a faint smile again. “As long as you will excuse my rustiness for the Common words, then, I would be glad to teach it again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's always one party member who doesn't have darkvision. Unlike Corazón, Max has clearly not learned the appropriate spells to be self-sufficient in the darkness.
> 
> See note at the beginning of chapter one for why I made divine spells a learning thing. (For folks who don't know D&D, divine spells just happen as you level up, but arcane ones have to be learned.) Also it gives them something to do to break up the sex, otherwise they'd probably get sore after a while...
> 
> When Shattershield says "spells that can heal or regenerate more significant injuries", he mostly literally means the [Regenerate](https://www.dndbeyond.com/spells/regenerate) spell, which requires a damn high level of spellcaster such that I've never encountered it in play, only in listening to a different D&D podcast (NADDPOD, specifically).


	4. Chapter 4

It was a good thing that the door to the cabin was on the lee side, as it meant that at least when Max managed to shove the door open a few inches not too much snow managed to immediately whip itself back in. They shut the door again quickly, looked round, and was immediately certain by Shattershield’s expression that he had seen just how bad the weather still was. Max shrugged, not sure what else they could say.

Less cold and less distracted, Max set about giving the cabin a more thorough search, actually holding up more of the jars to the light to see what was in them, and fishing around in the dark depths of the cupboard with one hand. For the most part, it did not turn up anything particularly interesting, although Max did appreciate the wooden comb that must have fallen down the back of one of the cupboards to be so dusty by the time that they found it.

For the most part, though, it was clear that the cabin had been meant to sit empty for some time, and had been tidied to that end. Pausing at the table, Max regarded the large checked wall hanging which they had been too cold – or distracted – to address the day before.

If there were a way to take it down without damaging it or the wall, however, it certainly looked warmer than many of the blankets. Max crossed to the barrels and checked the empty one for its stability, only to see Shattershield watching them warily.

“You appear to be considering climbing again,” he said.

Well, Max could not exactly claim innocence on that one. “Not sure how this is attached,” they said, with a twitch of the curtain. “But if it can come down undamaged...”

“Hmm. Well, I'd offer assistance, but you showed how yourself to be capable yesterday and I suspect that you would tell me not to.”

On that front, he was certainly correct, and Max simply gave him a pointed nod. On the vague off-chance there was a ladder behind the wall hanging, they glanced behind it, then froze with a look of disbelief.

“Are you okay?” said Shattershield, after Max had probably been staring for a good few seconds.

It pulled them back, and they turned to face him with their lips pressed tightly together. They were not sure whether they were more annoyed with themselves for doing a poor job of searching the previous day, or more amused at the entire situation.

“There's a door here,” said Max. Shattershield looked surprised, which they supposed was a valid third option. “I think there's another room.”

No, they were definitely leaning towards annoyed with themselves. Shattershield, however, moved the cauldron aside and immediately got to his feet with a look of interest. “It is not an external door?”

“Not well-fitted enough, we'd feel the draft.” Max started pushing the hanging back, feeling the wall until, yup, there was a metal hook to hold it back as well. They scooped back the fabric to reveal the planks of the door. “No lock, either.”

Even the door through which they had entered _had_ a lock, on the inside and probably meant for privacy as much as security. This door was bare. With another glance at Shattershield, to which he did not react as he continued to regard the door, Max gave in to their own curiosity and pushed it open. It did not surprise them to find pitch blackness on the other side, the fire in the hearth blocked from this direction, and they leant in the frame until Shattershield appeared at their shoulder to glance in.

“Oh.” He leaned a forearm on the top of the doorframe, and looked around the room with apparent interest. Max raised their eyebrows, watching pointedly until he seemed to realise and caught himself. “Oh, right, sorry. It appears to be a wetroom. There is a bath,” he nodded at some direction in the darkness as if that helped Max at all, “a drain, another hearth on the same chimney, more wood… I would imagine it was for when the owner did not want to track mud into the main area.” He looked down at them again, then reached to push hair back off their face with his claws gentle against their skin. The lock had not even been stray enough for them to have noticed it. “If you watch the food, I can light the fire in here as well.”

“I don’t _think_ it’s affecting the heat in the main room too much,” said Max, glancing between the two. The wooden wall was thick – thick enough for the hearth, and now that they thought could well have been wood-clad earth or something similar. “But in any case I wouldn’t object to washing. Clothes, as well,” they added, with a nod to Shattershield’s robes. At least the black would hide any lingering stains from the blood, but getting the worst out of it felt preferable.

They knew full-well that they still had dust from the crash of the balloon on them, as well as plenty of sweat from hiking and from, well… afterwards. A bath sounded like the height of luxury.

“But, uh,” they tucked the blanket they were wrapped in tighter around themselves, “don’t feel that you have to on my account. Just having room temperature water instead of snowmelt,” they added, with a nod to the barrel, “sounds good to me.”

It really wasn’t an option to turn up to deliver important messages looking like you had been running for days, even when that really was Max’s situation. Individual paladins, especially travellers, were generally more understanding of a less-than-perfect appearance, but certainly when Max had made their way to Mistmire they had stopped outside the city, sought out running water, and made themselves look presentable. Cold water baths were an occupational hazard.

But Shattershield gave a faintly amused grunt. “No, I think my breath and I can do better than that.”

He paused for a moment, looking down, and Max realised that they were standing partially in a doorway which was already not tall enough for him. They stepped away to let him duck through, eyeing his leg as he went and glad to see that he seemed to be limping less on it than he had been when he first stood up. Returning the food to the heat, they set about combing their hair within the warm glow of the fire, and watched as the light grew within the second room where Shattershield was presumably setting more wood to burn. It felt a long way away from the stiff, cold awkwardness of just the previous day.

It felt… _wrong_ , somehow, to admit that the time in the cabin was pleasant. As if it ought to be a trial, snowbound and with no real choice but to wait for the weather to change in its own time. That they both ought to be champing at the bit to leave.

Instead, they ate breakfast, and Max talked about some of the journeys they had been on with the Inspectors Order and some of the places they considered themselves lucky to have seen, even for a fleeting time. With a little encouragement, Shattershield responded with stories of places his time with Dragon D’Or had taken him – places they had not been fighting, he was quick to add. Max mostly knew which Orders were currently involved in military action or had been within the last five years, for the sake of record keeping, and though they had not seen large-scale battle themselves they had dealt with paladins who had.

They did not push Shattershield to speak in that direction.

He finished eating well before they did, taking the chair while Max sat cross-legged on the table again and made their way through a second bowl. He looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or not. Max could not say whether the second fire in the next room had made the cabin any warmer, but the morning had if nothing else made them realise how dehydrated they had been since probably back in the halls of the gnomes.

“I would wait until evening to expend power for more food,” said Shattershield, with a nod to the cauldron. “This only lasts for twenty-four hours, so I am glad the cauldron limits the volume.” Considering Max had seen it used to feed at least a dozen people in the past, they had to agree with that. “But with the barrels, there is ample room for water and if you wish to bathe,” he put a hand on the table and went to get to his feet, “I will gladly heat it.”

“Mmf!” Max made a stifled sound around the food – and frankly, the spoon – that was still in their mouth at that moment. As they swallowed and removed the cutlery, Shattershield paused, still seated for a moment. “Sorry. But it’s mostly been your work for it. The water, the fire…” they gestured around them. “I think the least I can do is say that you can go first.”

Shattershield rumbled deep in his chest. “Frankly… I do not think I will fit.”

Max kept a straight face. For all that he was having to duck through doorways, it was not as if the cabin as a whole was vastly too small for Shattershield, and the bed had certainly proven… they started to blush as their mind moved in that direction, heat creeping up their chest. “It shouldn’t be… gnome-sized,” they said. They had not actually seen into the room, to be fair, and resisted the urge to crane their neck to look in that direction.

“Unfortunately, I am well-used to a human world made slightly too small,” said Shattershield gravely. Max finished licking clean the spoon in their hand, and placed it back in the bowl before reaching for water. “Many of the human residents of Mistmire Citadel report the opposite problem.”

To be honest, Max was quite used to a world that seemed to be made for someone about a foot taller, but it was probably about equally frustrating. “You should at least try, though,” they said.

Shattershield raised a brow. “So that you might have the amusement of watching?”

“Well, I didn’t _mean_ it in that way,” said Max. “If you sit at an angle it might make it easier.”

“Come, let me show you,” he said with a sigh, getting to his feet. Max slid down to the floor behind him, eyes sliding across the powerful line of his shoulders with rather less guilt now, and followed him through into the second, smaller, room.

The hearth was much the same size as the one in the main cabin, and threw good light across the entire room. Shelves held linen to dry with and a couple of bars of soap, and the bath itself was a wooden oval which Max could not have lain down in, but certainly could have sat in with room to spare.

Admittedly, it looked rather smaller when Shattershield stood next to it, and when Max gave it a pointed nod he huffed but climbed in as his words had indicated he might. It did not give him enough room to stretch out his legs, Max had to admit, but there was room either side of his thighs and enough room for him to sit up perfectly well.

They crossed to the edge of the bath, leaned on it as if they were about to sit down, then swung about and started to climb in as well. Shattershield shook his head and grumbled, but was still smiling, as Max slipped into his lap once again, where they had been not all that long before, and put their hands against his chest. They could feel his knees slightly bent behind them, and were a little more upright themselves, but despite his clear attempt to keep a stern expression he slid a hand up their side as they slipped into place.

“Feels like there’s plenty of room to me,” said Max.

“You are not proving any points,” Shattershield replied.

Max slipped one arm about his shoulders, running the other down his neck and teasing along his collarbone. “I’ve gotten changed in cupboards before. You’d be surprised what you can do in a small space. Especially with another pair of hands to help.”

“So it’s help that you’re planning,” he said.

Max was unable to hold back their smile as they ran their hand along the underside of his snout, to cup the end, and then leaned in to kiss him again. It still felt strange, teasing their tongue against the roof of his mouth when there was, quite frankly, so much mouth they could not reach, But Shattershield gave a rumble that they could not see but could feel running through them, and kissed back in cautious movements of his tongue against their mouth. His hand was more certain against their side, though, warm against their ribs through the oversized shirt.

They could have stayed there for ages, it felt like, but Shattershield pulled back with a sigh and Max reluctantly withdrew as well.

“This is not at all helpful without water,” said Shattershield. He managed to retain more gravitas than the circumstances really deserved, Max could not help but think, even as they rubbed small circles on the nape of his neck. “And before _that_ , I think it would be wise for both of us to allow some healing.”

He reached up, and tugged aside the open neck of the shirt to reveal Max’s shoulder. When they peered round, they could see the faint pinkish marks of teeth and claws, too new even to have become full bruises, and again felt heat rising in their cheeks.

“Those really aren’t a problem,” they said, reaching up to slide the shoulder of their shirt back into place. “It’s not – I mean, it’s not really something worth expending magical energy on.”

The words came out a little too rushed, a little fumbled, especially for someone who carried messages for a living. Max’s cheeks were burning, but heat was seeping in elsewhere as well, and the _last_ thing they could very well say was that they had enjoyed it too much to want to be rid of the marks.

Shattershield abruptly began to look flustered as well, clearing his throat and shifting his hand round to Max’s upper arm. “Oh, I – I mean from the balloon coming down. The bruises from – before.”

Oh, yes, he had mentioned those. They would be deeper, mostly not visible yet. Max nodded hurriedly, movement coming back before their thoughts had quite caught up. “Yes, that would be a good idea.” None of the rest of them had really been paying too much attention to themselves, between Shattershield’s rather more impressive injury and the onrush of gnomes, until after fighting the Mind Flayer. They raised their hand vaguely towards their shoulder. “If you place my hand where it is worst, I–”

A grunt of annoyance, and Shattershield shook his head. “No, I will do yours, and then if you would…” he gestured towards his thigh. Max opened their mouth, a protest that he was the more injured springing to their lips. “I know, it will not take all of my healing ability, but I can save that. I…” he sighed. “I fear that the sort of healing that you or I can offer will not do much more for it. Address pain, perhaps, but I do not think it will be much improved until it can have the work of a cleric.”

Max wished that they had _something_ better to offer, but their knowledge of landscapes and ability to find their way was not really much help when they were stuck within two rooms. One of which Max had not even been able to find originally, to their embarrassment.

Something was nibbling at their thoughts, and they glanced aside for a moment to chase after it. Another spell, one of which they had heard but which their own order did not practice. They saw Shattershield cock his head, watching them carefully, but reached through their thoughts until they caught hold of it and looked round, triumphant.

“Restoration,” they said. “Your order practises spells of restoration, yes? Not some of the very powerful ones that clerics can do, but still. Perhaps that might help, to…” for a moment they paused, unsure how grisly they should be in their description, but Shattershield was another paladin. One who had spoken of holding back on severed limbs, come to think of it. “If there is anything in the wound that did not heal, that died. Perhaps a spell of restoration would help to cleanse it.”

“Hmm. That is a good idea. Now, allow me…”

Max nodded again, and twisted slightly where they sat to allow Shattershield to better put both hands over the line of bruises down their side. One on the curve of their shoulder, fingers spread wide to point down their upper arm, and the on the curve from their waist to their hip.

Shattershield cleared his throat, then spoke in clear and steady Draconic, the different textures of hisses audible where Max knew to look for them, but varying in ways they did not quite understand. The light that sparked from his hands was red, and so hot that it hurt in its own right; Max clenched their stomach against the urge to jerk away from the searing heat that spread down into their flesh, to where the bruises must have been.

A tendril crawled up their neck, then heat bloomed on the left side of their head. Max hissed through their teeth as the heat took hold there, feeling like the worst sunburn they had ever experienced, and closed their eyes as the seconds crawled out too long.

Then the heat receded again, leaving behind relief so good that it made them feel boneless, spent. A dozen nagging aches and sore places were gone, from their head, their back, their hip, pains wound deep into muscles and so stealthy Max had not even recognised them. They swayed forward into Shattershield’s hold, forehead coming to rest on his chest, and he had to squirm out the arm between them in order to wrap it around their back instead.

They were breathless, Max realised, as if they had been running at top speed instead of sitting in a somewhat cramped bathtub while magic took its toll.

“Ah, sorry,” said Shattershield. “I forget that most are… not used to the form our order’s power takes. And…” he paused, and ran his hand so gently down Max’s arm that it was barely a touch at all. His voice dropped. “There was more harm than I expected. The magic reached deeper to heal it.”

Honestly, in its wake Max felt as if they could return to sleep on Shattershield’s chest, tension in their muscles released and lingering pain faded. However, they raised their head again and opened their eyes, taking a deep breath, and smiled.

“I suppose neither of us was really paying close attention to that.” They reached up and tucked their hair back. “And if the bruises are deep, seeing them is…” they shrugged. Even that felt easier, their shoulders lighter than they had been since… well, at least since they had heard that Egbert the Careless was dead, and realised that they would be the one who could carry the message to his former order the fastest.

Shattershield’s fingers brushed again, feather-light, on the back of their arm.

“Well, it’s not really possible to see them,” Max finished. It didn’t really feel like a proper end to the sentence, but it was the best their mind could do. They glanced down at the tight fit of the tub, then up again. “Okay, I think I will actually have to get out to return the favour.” Shattershield unwound his arms as Max took hold of the side of the bath and willed their tired limbs to work. “Enough room for bathing isn’t necessarily enough room for laying on of hands. The manner my order teaches – oh.” Of course, Shattershield had already felt the laying on of Max’s hands. In more ways than one. Max’s hand tightened on the side of the bath as they stood up. “Um, I guess that you’ve seen how it works from my order.”

“Yes. Indeed.” Shattershield abruptly stopped meeting their gaze, which probably meant that he had just had much the same train of thought Max had. Which, well, they hadn’t bathed _yet_ , it wouldn’t be undoing the work of bathing to take his hand and drag him back between the sheets again. But Shattershield had made quite clear his intent to teach Max at least one more spell, in Find Steed, and Max could not help but feel that they really should be more than half dressed and with their mind most of the way out of bed. “This may not be elegant…”

It was not. The tub _was_ too small for him to extricate himself from easily, Max would give him that, and it was not so easy for dragonborn to simply tuck one foot beneath themselves and stand up that way. Max did not make too much of a display of looking through the linens and sniffing the soap, and did not look round as Shattershield cursed in Draconic – at least, it had the definite timbre of a curse – before they heard the click of his claws against the floor.

“Damnable thing,” Shattershield muttered, giving the tub a look as if it had personally offended him. That was a little harder not to smile at. “And that,” he added, in Max’s direction from the way that he stated it more clearly. Max looked round. “Is without water in it.”

Max raised both of their hands. “I just thought it better to check rather than assume that it would be too small. If you still think it is… okay.”

Shattershield looked from the tub, to Max, then back again. He sighed. “It would be nice to actually sit in the water. However, in the circumstances I will settle for some laying on of hands, if you would be so kind, and will lean on the edge of the tub to wash. It will drain all the same,” he added, with a gesture to the centre of the floor. The entire floor sloped gently towards it, stone placed to let all of the water run down to the small grate at the centre, which Max had not seen very often in buildings but had thought eminently sensible.

Their own laying on of hands seemed rather anticlimactic after the burning of Shattershield’s, although this time they did not force the power towards the injury over which their hands rested and let it flow as it wished. Silver flared faintly in patches down Shattershield’s side, glimmers between his scales, and even he seemed surprised at the spread of subtler injuries which it managed to find. Before Shattershield could shift away from their touch, Max followed it with casting a spell to cure wounds, and this time felt the power stay more tightly together as it continued to struggle with the damage done to Shattershield’s leg.

Max left it to Shattershield to see to his spell of restoration, and part-filled the bath a bucket at a time rather than be foolish enough to try to move the whole thing or to allow Shattershield to offer assistance in doing so. They did not particularly want the water to be _deep_ , just _warm_ , and left it at about half a barrel before filling the bucket with fresh water and setting it on the table for drinking instead.

“I believe that may have helped,” Shattershield said, as Max went to return to the wetroom. He stood up, as if testing, and nodded. “Yes, the pain is certainly decreased. Thank you for the suggestion.”

“Well, I’m glad I could do _something_ to help,” said Max. It came out a little more frustrated than it had sounded in their head, and from the look that Shattershield gave them he had not missed it. They sighed, and ran a hand through their hair. “Sorry. Your magic,” they gestured to the food and water, “your fire, even your darkvision has been doing a lot of the work.”

“You found this cabin, you found that room,” Shattershield nodded over Max’s shoulder, “and frankly you have probably been keeping me in line from trying to continue on while still injured. For that I will thank you, coddling aside.”

Max was unsure whether or not they were supposed to laugh, although they were at least heartened by the knowledge that, again, he would be nothing be earnest in his words. As it was, they did offer Shattershield a smile as he made his way back into the wetroom, gestured for Max to stand back, then bent down and breathed fire in a tight, focused circle onto the water.

It was so bright that Max had to shield their eyes against it, and by the time they were blinking away the afterimages Shattershield was testing the water with one hand, looking thoughtful. “A little hotter than I intended,” he said, straightening up.

“I did leave some cold spare.”

Or there was the ever-easy option of _waiting_ , but the soap was much nicer than they would have expected from some hunting cabin and the longer they thought of the cave dust probably still in their hair, the less that they wanted it there. They pulled off their socks and the too-large shirt without pause, thoughts firmly on the clean water awaiting them, and only then glanced at Shattershield still standing beside the tub.

He stepped closer, reaching out to brush a hand from their hip and upwards over the curve of their bare back. They felt goosebumps trailing in the wake of the touch, hands tightening on the shirt they were still holding, as Shattershield tilted his head and regarded them.

With a touch of a smile, he bent down, and dragged his tongue along the line of their shoulder to the base of their neck. They caught hold of his arm with one hand, fingers tightening on the muscle as he nipped at the muscle just at the base of their neck.

“It appears my laying on of hands did away with those, as well,” he said quietly, breath a brush against their skin. Max went to reach for his jaw to kiss, but he bit down again before they could do so, and tightened his claws against their ribs. “I will have to replace them.”

Oh gods. The _intention_ of it ran straight down Max’s spine and pooled into heat, and they tried to find words but only managed a vague squeak of a sound as Shattershield dragged his claws down their back instead.

Not one night, then, as they had half-wondered, half-feared. To be fair, it had been seeming less likely it would be that way since they had reached for each other again in the morning, but Max knew, both of them had to know, that there _was_ a world beyond the cabin that might have felt like an age away but was likely only a few days from encroaching again. They weren’t sure at what point the rules of that outside world would have to come back into play, or what it would look like once they did.

“I did notice your reactions,” he murmured against their ear, voice dropping even lower before his tongue ran one more time over the skin.

Max was abruptly aware of how they only had their underwear left to remove, and how Shattershield as well was really in only one layer of clothes. They stepped in closer to him, dropping their shirt altogether and putting their other hand to his hip to trace along just above his belt. The urge to curl their hands into the heat of him flared as they ran their tongue across their lips. “I worried it might sound strange.”

They felt Shattershield tug gently at their hair, probably twining his fingers back into it again even if they could not see it. “No stranger than this,” he said.

This time, they did manage to turn and press a kiss to the line of his mouth, aiming for more scale than tooth and just about achieving it. They already suspected that Shattershield would follow up with drawing back, and indeed he did, cooler air brushing between them again.

“I should not keep you from the hot water,” he said, and turned back towards the main room. “I will take the room afterwards.”

They _could_ follow him, Max supposed. Leave the water to cool – it could not get as cold as the snow, after all – and go back into the main room with him to have him follow up on the offer to replace the bruises his laying on of hands had accidentally smoothed away. It was deeply tempting. But then, so was the hot water, and the lingering, aching promise in the air that they _would_ find themselves both between the same sheets again.

Tamping down the heat in their gut, never mind the tightness around their chest, Max turned back to the water and the soap waiting, and scooped up the shirt from the floor to put it more tidily on the side of the tub instead. They heard a clanking from the main room, paused, then firmly told themselves _not_ to investigate. Shattershield was not the sort of paladin they had spent much of their career finding or herding – newcomers, people with lapsed paperwork, people with incorrect paperwork. Much as he had kept catching himself when Max had been climbing or dropping the pieces of balloon, they supposed.

They stripped down, stepped into the welcome embrace of hot water, and let the snowstorm outside feel just that little bit further away.

In some ways, the day took Max back to the first spells they had ever tried to learn. Back when they had been convinced that they needed to get the words exactly right, despite what their superiors had said about the intention being worth more than the words. Sitting cross-legged on the bed in a vague excuse for being dressed, wet hair tied back as successfully as they ever managed, trying to catch that intangible feeling of a spell _connecting_ and the power of it rushing through them.

Some spells came easier than others, they had known that from the start. The punchy rush of Command had come so easily that it had startled even them, while they had struggled to ever tap into the ferocious intention that needed to be behind any sort of smite. Though perhaps how ridiculous it had felt to be smiting training dummies had not helped, no matter how little it had seemed to put off some of the other trainees at the time.

It should have been simple enough. They had studied Celestial for years, since before even entering the Inspectors Order, and there were plenty of celestial spirits who would lend themselves to paladins in the name of bettering the world. But whether they tried the words in Common or in Celestial, it faltered in their throat, and they felt any attempt to connect snap closed around them.

Frustration made them restless, and without the snow they might have thought that a run would help to clear their head. As it was, they hissed in annoyance and got sharply to their feet, covering the length of the cabin in all too few paces.

“If I may,” said Shattershield.

Max stopped, facing the door and just on the verge of whipping round to storm back down again. They took a deep breath and locked their eyes on a knot in the wood, aiming for calm rather than desperation in their voice. “Please do?”

“I know a little of your Order - more than I do of some others, certainly. And the knowledge of this spell to access steeds has been made a matter of...” he exhaled heavily. “Status. Are you still concerned about learning this spell without your order's explicit permission?”

They could have laughed at the absurd simplicity with which he cut through it all. Of course, as soon as he _said_ it, it was a perfectly clear.

“Probably,” they said, still not turning around. They could feel flickers of a scowl repeatedly trying to sneak into their expression. “It feels like I'm going behind their backs.”

Shattershield rumbled. “Well, if you would rather not, the steed I can summon is capable of carrying the balloon. A second would be beneficial, but is not essential.”

Utility. A tool. They wanted the steed for a _purpose_ , and if that meant their confidence in the spell, and their ability to cast it, faded once they were both down the mountain then so be it. Once they had cast the spell once, they would know it was within their reach, and in some future moment of need perhaps it would be easier.

Max turned around. “No, you're right. These are exigent circumstances and to be fair... this is a good use of my time.” Their Order did not need to know, and in any case Max was confident they could give a good account of themselves regarding it.

To be honest, of anything that had happened since entering the cabin, this was the thing Max was _most_ likely to admit to their Order.

They returned to the bed and sat down again, doing their best to calm the buzz of energy in their veins. A goal; focus on it. Remember the glimmer that had been there, for a moment, before the giant mountain goat had taken form under Shattershield's hand, and the taste of that magic in the air.

Slipping back into Celestial, they focused on the picture of getting safely down the mountain. Of getting _Shattershield_ safely down the mountain besides, with the balloon he could not simply abandon lest it be used by someone to infiltrate Mistmire, and the news they both now needed to pass on of Lilliana.

If Deneir thought that reason enough to let through their request to the listening Celestials, then so be it. He could see clearly enough into Max's wants, after all.

This time, the words came clearly. They could _hear_ it ringing in their voice, the bell-like edge that was impossible without magic coursing through, as they offered up their question to any celestial spirit who might wish to agree. For one time, they offered, or to return again. Not for selfish whims but to _help_ in ways that Max could not do alone.

They _felt_ as it was answered, a celestial mind chiming back to theirs and power rushing back along the link. Max's eyes were still open, but the world faded away to white as they felt the celestial searching them, testing them, making its decision.

How long it lasted, they had no idea. Somewhere on the border between planes, time stopped having real meaning, and the pulse and shift of the magic went on for longer than Max had ever experienced before. At first it was terrifyingly close to the feeling of falling through the air, breathless, until they realised there was some shape behind it all, and that it was still possible to breathe at all.

They opened their eyes again, not sure at all how long had passed and with their head still spinning, to focus once again on the room before them. The fire seemed brighter, the room in sharper definition – and there, in the centre of the floor, still seeming to be standing under some brighter, sunlit sky, stood a tall and sturdy red deer.

Max got slowly to their feet, heart racing, even though they knew they were being foolish to act as if the deer was going to flee like a natural being. With its head held high, it was taller than they were, about shoulder to shoulder, and there was a glitter in its fur like it was standing in a rich autumn sunset.

They glanced over at Shattershield, who simply nodded to the deer.

“ _I wasn’t sure that anyone would agree_ ,” said Max, in Celestial. Their voice cracked slightly, more out of awe than anything else, and their hand was shaking slightly as they held it out, palm up, towards the deer. “ _I know I’m making the request without the agreement of my Order, but… recent events haven’t been exactly what my Order usually handles._ ”

The deer bowed their head, a gentle tilt that still made Max hold still so as to not walk into their antlers. When they looked up again, it was with a particularly intelligent gaze, and they willingly put their chin into Max’s outstretched hand.

Unlike wild creatures, this one would face no parasites or patches of tangled fur; Max ran their hand over its delicate clean hair and could not help a little bit of giddy pleasure just at getting to pet so beautiful an animal.

“ _Thank you for taking my request,_ ” Max said. They moved to scratch the deer between the antlers, and its eyes lulled closed for a moment like a pleased cat.

With a final stroke to smooth down any ruffled fur, Max stepped back again. The deer looked at them curiously.

“ _There’s nothing we can do right now,_ ” said Max. “ _But when the snow clears enough that we can, I’ll call to you again. If that’s okay?_ ”

Again, the deer bowed their head, this time in an unmistakeable nod. Breathless, Max nodded again, then closed their eyes for a moment and concentrated on releasing the connection between them and letting the creature – the _steed_ – fade away.

The light shimmered away again, leaving only the firelight to paint the room, and Max realised that their cheeks were starting to ache from how hard they were still smiling. They had not realised that – it was like there was still a fine string at the back of their mind, leading away, ready for the channel to be opened back up at any time. They had not realised that it _stayed_.

Max turned to face Shattershield, who was still seated and watching with his own, rather less overwhelmed, smile. He gave a minute nod, and in all honesty Max knew they were probably supposed to respond in some dignified and measured way. But instead they strode across the room to where Shattershield was waiting and all but flung themselves into his lap, grabbing his shoulders and crushing themselves straight in to kiss his neck.

It took Shattershield a moment to put an arm around them in response, as Max felt laughter bubbling to their lips and kissed his throat again, a third time, then drew back and leaned some of their weight into his arm so that they could brush their lips against the end of his snout.

“Congratulations,” he said, drily.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Max replied. They ran a hand up to stroke along Shattershield’s horns, tightening their thighs at his hips. Gods, they did not even mean to be so single-minded, but even just having him there in the room with them made them feel like they wanted to devour him whole.

They pushed aside the neck of his shirt to reach the scales beneath, drawing back into him to mouth at his collarbone and run their tongue across the heat of him. Shattershield rumbled in the depths of his chest, but Max could feel that it was not in displeasure, not as Shattershield teased at the damp curls at the nape of their neck with one hand and stroked the back of their thigh with the other.

Perhaps they could blame it on some sliver of power still flowing through them, or on the new flush of gratitude laid over the desire that had already done well to establish itself. But to be honest, they weren’t entirely sure that they wanted to _blame_ anything, not as they rucked up his shirt with one hand to reach beneath and trail their fingers over his stomach.

One hand still warm beneath their thigh, Shattershield drew the other one down and slipped it beneath their shirt in turn. Max groaned against his skin as he reached straight up to roll his touch across their nipple, then tease a claw against it as it hardened. Barely more than a pressure, just a _reminder_ , and Max would be lying if they tried to claim it didn’t still go straight between their thighs. He rolled the heel of his hand against their skin, Max leaning into it as they sucked harder kisses across what of him they could reach from the collar of his shirt.

Reaching down again, they gathered up their shirt, and drew away from him just long enough to peel it off and push it onto the table. With an amused grunt, Shattershield bent to bite at their other shoulder, painting a trail along their skin with his teeth and tongue as his fingers toyed at their nipple still. Max raised one hand to his snout, and in a delicate flash he had their fingers just held between their teeth, his tongue twining through them in a way that really didn’t have the right to be as arousing as it was.

His other hand tightened around the back of their thigh, lifting them slightly into him and leaving the muscles in their legs tensing. His tongue seemed to almost tug slightly at their fingertips, hot and slick. Max slipped their arm around him in return, reaching for the line of his spine down to graze nails over the small of his back; a hissing sound caught in Shattershield’s throat as they felt the shifting of muscles there beneath the circles that they traced.

Shattershield made that purring noise again around their hand, and his hand on their thigh slipped higher, claws curling around almost to hit the crease of their thigh. Close enough to spur, too far to sate.

There was only so much of him that they could even reach, pinned as they were in his hold, never mind the shirt still covering what was in Max’s opinion rather too much of his skin. They trailed their touch lower on his back, dipping below his belt and towards the cleft of his buttocks, and he responded with a ghost of claws across their chest.

“Captain…” it came out breathless against his skin, only half a word at all. They were drowning in the heat of his touch, the solidity of him between their thighs, body aching to intertwine with his. His claws tightened into their thigh. “Oh, fuck.”

Shattershield chuckled as he let Max’s fingers slip from his mouth and tilted his head to regard them for a moment. “Are you aware you keep calling me that?” he said. All that Max could remember on their tongue was the curse, and they looked at him blankly. “Captain,” Shattershield explained.

At least Max knew they had already been flushed, and could – they hoped – not go noticeably redder. Although Shattershield had said his name during their time journeying, before they had even _found_ Egbert, he had never stopped being Shattershield in Max’s mind. Nobody else seemed to use another name for him, either. But that probably did not _really_ account for what they had been calling him last night, when they were not exactly thinking about their words.

“I… no.”

“Hmm. Not that I dislike how you say it;” he traced his claws down over their stomach to hook at their belt, drawing a whimper from their throat. “But it could make it awkward when I return to my duties.”

He had all too much of a point there. Max swallowed, eyes fixed on a point on Shattershield’s shoulder. “I should, uh, work on that,” they said, struggling to get much breath at all behind the words. Between one hand on their belt and the other cupping their uppermost thigh, Shattershield had a firm hold of them, and it was not so much a distraction as the only thing they wished to focus on. “It’s not all that easy to think of you as Arend.”

“Nobody else uses it these days,” he said. It was not quite casual, not quite an aside, and Max felt a strange curl in their gut at the thought of getting to be the only one who called him by that name.

Before they could have time to really think on it, though, there was a lurch, and for a split second they thought that the chair had broken from underneath them both. They grabbed at Shattershield’s shoulders, reaching already for healing spells, then realised that they had moved _upwards_ , and that Shattershield had simply _lifted_ them as he stood up.

Oh _gods_. He was holding their weight on one arm as if it were nothing, other hand still hooked over their belt, and he–

“Will you _think_ of your leg?” said Max, even as their thighs tightened on Shattershield’s hips from pure instinct to not fall to the ground. It was impossible to even read his expression to know whether he was amused by it all, but Max could not help feeling that he was slightly _smug_ about the whole thing. “Put me down!”

He tugged at the buckle of their belt, pulling their hips more flush against his body, and Max’s toes curled at the electric bolt it sent through them. They did cuff his shoulder, at least, and tried to not make it clear quite how giddying it was to be effortlessly held up by him, to not think about how easily he could press them to the wall and–

The indignant splutter that they gave, as Shattershield proceeded to simply walk across the room, might as well have been at their own treacherous thoughts. But at the least it was a mercifully brief distance before Shattershield turned and sat down heavily on the bed, Max still tangled around him.

They were breathing harder than they had any right to, they knew that, but they were more turned on then they had any right to be as well. “You stubborn–” Max began.

Shattershield responded by undoing their belt and bowing his head to nip just at the curve of their neck, where it was still sore from his teeth right before they had bathed. His tongue traced their collarbone, curling at the dip in the centre of it, and Max decided that they cared a little less than they thought they had, though clearly still more than Shattershield did.

“You shouldn’t do that on an injured leg,” they settled for grumbling, untucking his shirt and pulling it upwards.

He released them long enough for them to pull the shirt free and toss it aside, then his hands were on them again, running warm swathes across their skin. Max slipped a hand down to his stomach, massaging in low circles but never quite reaching down far enough. They put the other hand to the back of his neck, fingers pressing hard against his scales to hear the growl build in his throat. His eyes were burningly intent on them, even as he ran one hand up between their thighs to knead the heel of his hand through the fabric of their clothes.

There was rather more of an appeal to skirts, or to robes that did not include trousers, in moments like this. Though that wasn’t what Max was _usually_ concerned with, they had to admit. Perhaps just while they were still in the cabin…

They moaned again as Shattershield’s hand rolled beneath their clit, rocking beneath them like a wave beneath a boat. Their hand slipped down, seeking out those delicately different scales, before rising back up again to about where a navel would have been on anyone other than a dragonborn. The unbroken pattern of his muscles was certainly nothing to scoff at, though, and Max ran their fingers greedily over them.

“Lie down,” said Max. “Let me get these off.”

Shattershield said something in Draconic, and damn it Max was either going to have to start learning some words, or getting Shattershield to say it in Common because there was a firm, determined roll to his words that only seemed to come to him in that tongue. He did unwind his arms from them, though, and Max stood up for a moment to push what remained of their clothing back down off their hips. This time they grabbed them to place at the foot of the bed, however, and by the time that they straightened up again Shattershield had also divested himself of clothes and tossed them in the same direction.

Max went to kneel on the bed again just as Shattershield shifted his weight, and the movement of the mattress dropped them into him with an inelegant smack against his chest and a stifled yelp. With a grunt of his own, Shattershield fell backwards, which was much where Max had wanted him but not the way they had intended to go about it.

“Oh, sorry,” said Max. They pushed themselves up onto their hands and knees again. “This mattress seems to have a mind of its own. I–”

”Or you could stay down here,” said Shattershield. He ran a hand down Max’s side. “Or even…”

His hand wound back into their hair, and Max opened up their throat to him as he leant in to run his tongue along it. The brushes and nips of his teeth were lighter, away from the muscle, but Max was all the more aware of their touches. They wondered whether he could feel their pulse racing.

Shattershield tugged down on one of their shoulders, his arm sliding across their back, but before Max could do much more than start to be confused he had rolled them over in one deceptively simply move. Max found themselves on their back next to Shattershield, and went to sit up with a question on their lips only for his arm to wrap around their waist, this time, and tug them so that their back was against him.

 _Oh_. That made more sense. Shattershield nuzzled at their hair, one of his arms hooked beneath them and up to their nipples again, the other grazing claws across the base of their stomach. He huffed a word in Draconic against their ear, then caught himself with a snort.

“You lit up,” he said, low and rumbling against their back. He was like a wall of flame behind them, encircling them in his heat and the strange hardness of his scales against their skin. More frustrating was that Max could not even reach much of him in return, their hands on his arms but most of him just out of fingertip’s reach. “When you cast that spell. Speaking that tongue.”

His tongue ran up the back of their ear, and perhaps it was that he was the only one who had thought to touch there but it tightened in Max’s chest. His left hand slipped down between their thighs, and this time there was no fabric in the way as he stroked against their clit.

“Celestial feels… strange,” they gasped, as his teeth tightened on their shoulder again. The faintest rumble in his throat shuddered through them. “I like it when you speak Draconic.” His fingers slipped lower, careful with claws against delicate skin in a way that spun itself into anticipation. “Wish I understood it.”

Shattershield chuckled, fingers sliding along and back again, now just a little too far from their clit. Max tried to tilt their hips into his hand, but he shifted with them and they could not get purchase. His other hand massaged their chest, coaxed at their nipple.

“Hmm. I can teach you,” he ran his tongue up the back of their neck, right over their spine. “Some words. But perhaps in return,” _now_ his fingers returned to their clit, and Max rolled into his touch with no small relief, “you will take a break from having your way with _me_ ,” teeth nipped delicately at their earlobe, “and allow _me_ to have my way with _you_.”

“Huh?”

For a moment, it was difficult to string thoughts together at all, beyond wondering whether if they squirmed a hand behind their back they would be able to reach down and draw him to readiness. But then the image managed to sharpen itself in Max’s mind, the time on time of the night and the morning that they had pressed Shattershield to his back on the bed to straddle him. True, his hands had still been free to roam, or he had been seated to reach more of their body, but Max had to admit that each time it had been _them_ making the call.

“Oh. Oh – gods,” said Max. Another brush of Shattershield’s fingers on hot skin, and as they rocked back into his hips they felt him already hard against their thigh. That, well, yes, they supposed that they were just against the right place as they moved. “Oh fuck, give me a moment. I need to think.”

Obediently, his fingers stilled, though he still cupped one side of their chest and his tongue was still making little teasing flicks against their skin. Max dragged in deep breaths.

“You want me to stop with the orders?” they said, once they were sure they could get out a whole sentence in one go. Wait, had they given him an order just seconds before? It was hard to be quite certain.

“Mm, no. Just… grant me a turn.”

Shattershield turned further up onto his side, leaving Max more across his right arm than on his chest. They ran their left hand down him, like grounding themselves to his heat, as they let their right fall back into his. His fingers twined into theirs, as Max nodded.

“Is that a yes?” Shattershield cocked his head.

Max smiled, tightening their fingers into his. “I’ll try to behave awhile,” they breathed.

That drew out another rumbling chuckle, and then Shattershield bowed his head to pick his way down their chest. They had to admit, there was a real precision to the movements of his teeth, grazing enough to be felt but not so much that they even left marks in their wake.

They resisted the urge to lower a hand to guide him, biting their lip on a moan and letting their head drop back. But then his fingers brushed lower between their thighs, a rush of heat against their entrance, and as he entered them Max could only gasp, back arching from the sheets.

They had _thought_ they were familiar with him by now. Not _used to_ him, that was no credit to the fresh excitement each time they bought their hand or mouth or body to act upon his cock. But familiar in a way that could half-anticipate him, that was ready for the feel of the form and ridges as they dragged along their walls.

Probably they should have realised that from behind, angle totally changed, it would feel different. Shattershield’s fingers were still on their clit, his tongue working at one nipple, and the slow steady thrust of him was like an overwhelming heat, pleasure that made their legs shake and left them wordless, breathless, even he began to rock against them in shallow, deliberate thrusts.

The touch of his cock lit up their skin, all new patterns drawing out a sound that was little more than a whimper. They tightened their fingers in his, holding themselves back from trying to guide or to lead him as they wound their other hand around his bicep to feel the subtle flexing and shifting of his muscles. He shifted his feet against the blankets; Max allowed themselves to shift with it, Shattershield’s hands guiding their thighs open about his, their toes curling at the air. It felt… no, exposed was not the right word… _ungrounded_ , perhaps, a mixture of liberating and unbalancing.

And then – _gods_. This time it was Shattershield who set the pace of his thrusts, slow and shallow and in time with the movement of his fingers on their clit, his tongue on their breast. Their foot brushed against his calf. As Max gasped, Shattershield’s teeth caught more sharply at their skin, and in apology or otherwise he responded with a slow pass over it with his mouth again.

“Cap–” no; they caught the title on their tongue, swallowed it back. “Arend.” It still felt strange, but at the sound of it Shattershield gave a deep, pleased-sounding rumbling breath. There it was, then. “ _Arend_.”

His arm down their body pressed more firmly against them, holding them in place as his thrusts grew deeper. Anything Max might have tried to put clear words to was driven from them in fractured moans as the sensation, no, _sensations_ , ever shifting, threatened to overwhelm them. They could feel sweat prickling down their back as each thrust sent a fresh wave through them, curling and tightening in their stomach, burning down their spine.

They whispered curses, his name, sounds that were not words at all, as his fingers coaxed them on. “Harder,” they asked among it all, fingers tightening painfully in his, surrounded by the rough growl of his breathing, their own moans, the obscene wet sounds of their body coming together. “Oh fuck, _harder_.”

Shattershield obliged, even the arm across Max’s body not quite holding them in place as his thrusts grew harder, faster. They turned their face to gasp against his arm, not quite registering that he was nosing their left hand away from his chest until they felt his teeth against the soft inside of their wrist. With something between a moan and a whimper, Max juddered in his hold, beset on all sides by him and lost. They could feel their body winding close, were pretty sure that they whispered as much to him but were not sure that he could have heard it.

They tilted their hips to him and cried out against his arm as each thrust turned into a burst of light behind their eyes. Orgasm tightened them like a spring, shaking, whispering his name repeatedly and thoughtlessly against his own scales, bolts of tight pleasure sinking into their skin until they felt lead-heavy with it.

Finally it broke through, and with a less muffled cry Max let it crash over them. They felt themselves tightening around Shattershield’s cock in sharp motions, muscles tightening so hard it almost ached as the relief of pleasure crashed through them and tore apart what little was left of their thoughts.

Shattershield snarled, teeth tightening on their wrist until it felt like enough to bruise, hips settling flush to theirs and grinding deep against them as they felt the wash of warmth of his own climax. Even then, his fingers were still moving, and it was almost too much, too bright, running along the edge of discomfort even as he slowed to draw out the last few shivers from them.

Then his hand stilled, his mouth coming away from their arm as he nuzzled down against their throat again, the hot firm stretch of him beginning already to abate just slightly. Max turned their head where it still lay pillowed on his arm, almost knocking their heads together as they tried to look round to face him and setting both of them chuckling breathlessly.

“Gods,” they breathed. They curled in against the hot wall of his chest, stroking his jaw. “I didn’t realise…” so many things, apparently, things that still slipped out of their grasp before they could put words around them. They ran their leg along his, savouring the sensitive feeling and the whispering sound that it mad. “Mm. Is this how you stop me from being _able_ to give you orders?”

He grunted. “Did it work?” Max chuckled again, even as their muscles seemed to resent the movement. With a rumble, he wrapped around behind them again, tucking them more onto their side to, well, spoon around them. “I wanted…” he paused, coughed, and lowered his voice to a slightly awkward mumble. “I wanted to see you like that.”

A sort of helpless, Max supposed, and the only sort they had ever been okay with being. “It was…” in a flicker of mischief, they remembered some of his own words. “Strange,” they said. “But pleasant.”

From Shattershield’s pause, it took him a moment to remember the words, and then he gave a grumbling groan and buried himself further into their hair. Max began giggling, lighter and giddier than before, even as Shattershield huffed against their shoulder and muttered vaguely about ingratitude or something similar.

His left arm was wrapped around them now, and they caught hold of that wrist, drawing his fingers to their mouth to run their tongue against the scales. When they felt Shattershield look up, they drew his fingers into their mouth one by one, sucking gently as their tongue curled around them. Nothing compared to what _his_ tongue could do, of course, but both of them knew that the salt taste on Shattershield’s fingers was of Max, that Max was sucking his fingers clean in the same movement.

They lingered until they felt a half-growling sound rumbling in his chest, then let their lips fall away again and twisted in place to catch his eye. “I certainly enjoyed it,” they said, statement not reassurance. “But it felt… a little like being caught on the wind.”

Their voice faded as they found the right words for that freeing, frightening feeling, and from the way that Shattershield stroked their cheek they were quite sure that he caught every nuance of their words. The feeling of how it had been to be flying in the balloon, but that teetering sense of fragility that now haunted such a sensation.

“If you would rather I did not again–”

“Now, I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” said Max, quite certain that their legs would still refuse to hold them if they tried to stand up. They honestly couldn’t say whether it was the position or the helplessness that had so undone them, but had a suspicion that the two were too linked to tease apart anyway. Shattershield snorted, and they rubbed their hand into his cheek again. “But I don’t think I could handle it… more than once.”

“Ah. So I have found a way to curtail that energy of yours,” Shattershield said, without even needing to pause to think of such a comment, and Max shook their head fondly and could only smile as they melted back into his arms. “For a short while, at least.”

“Apparently so.” With their back pressed to him, they realised, they could feel the faint steady thud of his heartbeat. “I should probably congratulate you. Or thank you.” Their need to pace was gone, after all, the thought of even getting out of the bed once again unattractive. The most they wanted to consider was rolling over in his arms to make use of their hand against him, but he had assured them during the night that it was not _actually_ necessary for both sides to be involved in every encounter.

Then he had muttered something about a worried new initiate who had asked a very similar question, some years ago, and Max had been unable to hold in their laughter.

“If you intend to sleep, let me draw over a blanket,” said Shattershield, as if he were not far more effective than a blanket himself. All the same, it was not unwelcome as the fabric was drawn up and across them. “The fire should be banked enough for a short time.”

There was definitely something to be said for it; if Max were honest, climax did not usually have anything like this much of a soporific effect on them, and they would by now either be eagerly speaking or continuing to explore him. The deep, steady rumble started up in Shattershield’s chest again.

“Is that a purr?” mumbled Max, even as they settled into his arms.

Shattershield huffed, and the sound stopped briefly. Maybe _that_ wasn’t a novel question to him either. “No. Dragonborn don’t have the right vocal chords to purr. The sound is only on the exhalation.”

Their eyes fell closed. “It’s soothing.”

Wrapping back around them, Shattershield fell back into making the sound again. It was not all that dissimilar to the snoring sound of the night, Max realised faintly, and even more pleasant to the ear. “Well, I am glad,” he said, soft against their ear, and then Max let themselves drift back into sleep against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second room/wetroom/bathroom got added pretty much on a whim, but hopefully was not too sudden in its appearance. When the snow was coming in, they weren't exactly comparing the size of the outside of the building to the size of the inside!
> 
> The thing that Shattershield says about vocal chords is true (I mean, in animals at least, I can't speak to dragonborn). Animals either have the harder vocal chords needed to roar, or the softer ones needed to purr. Since there are feats allowing dragonborn to replace their breath weapons with roars that can cause Fear, I presume they have the harder vocal chords.
> 
> The taller end of male red deer are as tall as ponies and even approaching horse size, so not of an unreasonable size for Max at all. We can just presume this one is right at the top end of strength as well, to be capable of carrying them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inner linguistics nerd comes out in this one. Full notes at the end.

For the second time that day, Max awoke curled up in Shattershield’s embrace, although this time he moved as soon as they did and seemed to have been simply dozing rather than fully asleep. He stroked their side as they reached up to rub their eyes and to glance around.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Not that long,” said Shattershield, which was not that much of an answer but was, Max supposed, vaguely reassuring that they had not proceeded to sleep for the entire day. “I can’t recall the last time I spent a day doing so little. It is pleasant.”

Being a paladin _did_ come with set numbers of days off, but Shattershield’s words still did not surprise them. They shifted, stretching, and whether it was the laying on of Shattershield’s hands or having slept quite dreamlessly, their body felt languid and relaxed from head to toe. Max rolled over to better face Shattershield, hooking their legs over his.

“You did say yesterday that you weren’t the time-off sort.”

He grunted. “Well, technically this _is_ time off, since it allowed me the time to attend… well, Egbert’s funeral that wasn’t.”

It would have been nice to have never had that mix-up in the first place, obviously. But Max couldn’t help knowing, guiltily, that without the miscommunication they never would have had extended time in Shattershield’s company, and certainly would not have ended up snowed into this cabin with him.

“Did you always live in Mistmire?” They tugged down one of the cushions to prop beneath their head. Shattershield withdrew his arm from beneath their head, flexing his hand in a way that wasn’t quite subtle enough for Max to miss it, but then laid it back down close enough that he could drag his fingers through their curls anyway. “Or did you go there to join Dragon D’Or?”

“Well – both, really,” he said. “Growing up, I always intended to join the order.”

There was something about his saying _intended_ , rather than _wanted_ , that was endearing all on its own. It wasn’t surprising either that he had been a serious child. “Your favoured role in schoolyard games,” they guessed, although it had the weight of some experience behind it.

“Of course,” he said. “And you? The Inspectors Order is based in… no, the Tourney Grounds is separate, isn’t it…”

“Lowminster,” said Max, taking pity on him. Unlike most orders, the Inspectors Order had multiple locations, and Max had even known members to sometimes go to the wrong place by accident. Their own skills in navigation had been of help from the beginning. “No, I was from a smaller village. But we had a travelling party come through when I was… twelve, I think. Adventurers. One of them was a paladin.” Most people got a slightly adjusted version of exactly what had happened, but Max couldn’t help feeling that Shattershield deserved the true one. “I… hid in their cart for two days before they found me.”

Shattershield started laughing softly, shaking his head.

“The paladin escorted me back and gave me some pamphlets about the different orders.” Max had been even shorter, even skinnier, and considerably more inclined to sulk in those days, and must have made quite a sight on being returned. “Told me to try again in a few years. Even suggested I started running messages between villages, which got me… well.” They shrugged.

“It should never be said there is only one way of becoming a paladin,” said Shattershield levelly, which drew a laugh from Max’s lips in turn.

“When I was younger, I thought I wanted adventure,” said Max. “But I realised it was more that I wanted to journey. See more than a village. The Inspectors Order suited me well for that.

“I can imagine. No, with me it was the usual – guardian of the city, defender of the people. Which, I eventually came to see, half the applicants to the order say but very few of them actually mean.” He snorted. “I suppose that I’m lucky they believed me when I said it.”

“You do tend to sound like you believe in what you say.”

“I have a suspicion I was not as convincing when I was younger, but I suppose you’d have to go to the old swords to find someone who could swear to it. There’s not many of them nowadays.”

From the way his voice softened, Max would guess that was more to do with the war he had spoken of than his own age. The tail end of Dragon D’Or’s rise in recruitment had been around the time they had been becoming a paladin, though they had heard about it in the years that followed.

“I’ve got plenty who can still tell stories about my misadventures,” they offered instead. “Though mercifully Egbert and his… Charismatic cheat friends are not among them.”

The nickname slipped out before they even realised it, having firmly settled itself in place before the first day of knowing them had even been through. They certainly remembered everyone except the seal looking rather furtive at various times.

“His what?” said Shattershield.

Max coughed. “His, er, his friends. They were in very high spirits, and I had to keep reminding them that assisting Egbert counted as cheating. I think a lot of it was being used to helping each other.”

After a moment, Shattershield closed his eyes. “I did not hear that,” he said, with some finality. “And if I did, it does not matter anyway as I am not one of the Trials adjudicators.” He sighed. “But it is not wholly inaccurate.”

“What _did_ they do last time they were in Mistmire, then?” said Max. “All I’ve heard about is a bear and something called Interpol, but that all the same they managed to do something _good_ for the city.”

They had to admit, the full explanation that Shattershield gave made significantly more sense than the fragments they had heard thus far might have indicated. More than that, knowing that Merilwen could turn into a bear somehow made her seem more suited to the rest of the group.

Shattershield spoke about Mistmire, tracing something of a map with one claw on the blanket lying over them as he spoke. His love for the city was clear in his voice, as he seemed to settle into talking more freely, eventually finding himself describing how the city looked to return to, at sunset, in the victorious but exhausted wake of battle.

Max did not have any such in-depth knowledge of places, other than the Inspectors Order base at Lowminster. But they could give stories from a dozen cities and at least as many towns, and plucked from the most memorable of them to offer Shattershield in reply. They also described at greater length the various sorts of strangeness that had unravelled at the Trials when Egbert reattended. Shattershield looked increasingly concerned, until Max made sure to talk about Egbert’s success when it came to talking to the unapproachable bastions of the assault course. Then he softened again, a flicker of genuine pride in his eyes despite it all.

They talked about their own run at the trials; far less eventful though that had been, Max _had_ thought to try the handle on the doors when they came to them. Shattershield admitted that he had not tried any such thing, and when Max teasingly asked confirmed that he had indeed opened each door with one blow.

“I wonder where I got that impression,” said Max, sliding back in to kiss the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms. They flexed under Max’s hands as Shattershield bought his hand up to their back. “That you can be direct with certain things.”

He rumbled. “And you can be less than subtle,” he replied, setting Max laughing again. “What do you plan with me, hmm?”

“Plan is a strong word.” Max bit down against his skin until his claws tightened on their back. “Want to find out?”

This time Shattershield rolled eagerly to his back, hands coming up to trace Max’s body again as they reapplied their mouth to its work. They were learning now where was quickest to make him growl and tighten his hands on them, where to run their nails or sink their teeth. He answered with his hands at their breast, with claws teasing at their thighs, drawing them upright to nip at the skin of their shoulders and chest until they were breathless and with moans in their throat.

They straddled one of his thighs again, hand pressing to bring forth his cock before stroking firm and inviting along its length. Shattershield responded with his own hand between their thighs, cautious at first with his stroking gestures until Max demanded – and they would have to admit it was a demand, to forceful to be a request but not quite an order – that he give them his fingers _properly_. He did not need to ask what they meant by it, at least, and his claws may have been hard but they had been thoroughly dulled and Max moaned as Shattershield’s fingers slid inside them. The movements of his hand were small, none too regular, but enough for them to rock against as his thumb rubbed at and near their clit.

Twitches and flickers in his cock provided more warning than his growled words against their throat, but Max drew him over the edge with their hand as his hips bucked against their touch. They untwined themselves from him enough to bend down and lick his scales clean, bringing forth a new wave of mumbled Draconic as his hold tightened in their hair and with his other hand he covered his eyes as in disbelief. The taste – not unpleasant, but never exactly enthralling – was more than worth it for his reaction.

He drew them back up, cupped their jaw to hold them still to kiss in that delicate way Max had tried earlier that day. At least, until his fingers came to bear again, and Max lost the coordination to be able to kiss him back as they came apart around his touch. His name came to their lips more easily than his title, this time, and he made a deep murring sound as they gasped it. Climax flashed through them, caught between his hands and his teeth, and then they were sagging against him, catching their breath as their fingers traced patterns on his hip.

“Forgive me,” Shattershield said, and Max raised their head mostly in wondering what in G’eth he could be apologising for. “I am perhaps still… cautious with my claws.”

In certain ways, at least; Max could still feel pleasurably sore lines on their thighs and points on their hips. “Hmm.” They kissed his chest, then peeled themselves more upright again. “I guess you’ve already realised that I like your teeth.” Even _they_ could see the marks on their shoulders that attested to that. “Maybe you and your claws need to make it up to me.”

The deep rumble in Shattershield’s chest was one step away from a growl, and for a reply he raked his claws down Max’s side hard enough to leave stinging marks in their wake.

Max all but fell upon him, tongue and teeth and nails on his chest as his claws pressed and dragged and traced down their body. Their hand found his other cock, drew along the length of him, before with a shove of Shattershield down into the sheets Max straddled him fully and guided him inside them. It drew a snarl from him as their hips came flush to his, their body welcoming him easily this time even as they set their hands against his chest and began to move their hips against his.

Yes, it had been an unravelling rush to fall apart in Shattershield’s arms, to let him take charge. But it had been almost too much, all the same, and this… this was so much easier. Shattershield looked far from lost beneath the steady rhythm of Max’s hips, fingers and claws still teasing in places which made it clear that he had been paying close attention to their reactions as well. The sounds from his throat grew rougher, though, grunts and stifled groans creeping in as Max rode him in smooth, steady movements.

Another outburst of Draconic, hissed words on Shattershield’s tongue; he caught up one hand in Max’s hair again, palm hot against their ear and fingers wound just a little too tight in their curls. Max did not relent in their pace, flushed with heat as much from the look in Shattershield’s eyes and the guttural sounds on his tongue as from the physical feeling of him beneath them.

They caught their name amid his words, but nothing else, just his panting growing deeper and interspersed with groans. His hips rose to meet them, and as they gasped his name again they caught another word, “Please, _please_ ,” amid the sounds he made.

Nodding, knowing that he could feel it against his hand, Max slowed to grind down against him. Shattershield made a choked sound, gasped Max’s name again, then as Max deliberately tightened their muscles around him he took hold of their hips in both hands, thrusting hard and shuddering as he came.

In the wake, Max fell still, heart racing and blood singing as if they had been running in some race again. Shattershield rumbled something that was not quite words, but as his grip on their hips relaxed Max softened to lean against his chest.

“You are…” he grunted. “There is a word in Draconic. It means…” he paused, still breathing hard, fingers stroking almost idly against their hip. Leaning down, Max could rest their cheek against the end of his snout, warm scales against their skin. “Over-breathed, I suppose. When the power of your breath is greater than it should be – uh,” he drummed his claws against Max’s hip as they could almost hear him searching through the papers of his mind. “Like a dragonborn with the breath of a true dragon, or a young dragon with the breath of an ancient one. _Frahsveri_. You are certainly that.”

Max took a deep breath. “Fras-very?”

Shattershield chuckled softly, the feeling of it rattling all along Max’s body. “ _Frah_ ,” he said, emphasising the breathy sound after the vowel, “ _sve-ree_.”

More rolls to the r, more depth to the sound. Several more times, Max tried, and Shattershield tweaked the emphasis of one sound or another, until he gave a satisfied huff and nodded. “There you go. I’m not certain how useful it is as a first word to learn, but still.”

“Then what would be useful?” They propped their chin in one hand, still lying on his chest.

Shattershield paused for a moment. “ _Wushzarath sathi_ ,” he offered. “It’s a greeting – not a formal one, though. I would not use it for the Council.”

“I wouldn’t risk bad Draconic of any sort on the Council,” said Max. Common was easier for some peoples to speak than others, certainly, but for the most part all of the major parties of G’eth could physically pronounce the words. The same could not always be said of other tongues. “Wu-zha… no.”

Well, at least they had known that one was going awry early on.

“ _Wushzarath_ ,” said Shattershield, and waited for Max to echo them, “ _sathi_.”

“ _Sathi_. I can handle that part.” Their hips started to complain slightly against the position in which they lay, and Max grimaced. “If I’m going to do this properly, I should sit up. Find some clothes again.”

Shattershield spluttered something, and Max was honestly not sure whether it was in response to their words of because he had thought of some response but was not able to bring himself to make it. Either way, they settled for kissing the side of his mouth again, letting their lips linger, until he huffed and stroked their cheek with the back of his hand.

They peeled away and sat up, glad to remember this time where they had put their clothes. Behind them, Shattershield shifted, setting the mattress moving again. “Do you always use your days off to go learning new spells and languages?” he said.

Max slipped the shirt on over their head, still not bothering to wear anything underneath, and felt him smooth down some crease on the back of it. “When I still had spells I was authorised to learn, I did,” they admitted. “Not so much the languages. I started learning Celestial not long after I met that first paladin. It has its own alphabet.”

“I have seen it,” said Shattershield. “Different from the Iokharic script, as well.” Max looked round to see him propped up on his right elbow and regarding them with an expression that… well, that Max could not quite place. Some sort of _want_ was definitely a part of it, but they could not be sure of the rest.

If nothing else, it would be nice to learn a handful of words. Not least, if they could get them out of him, ones that Shattershield might be speaking when his grasp on Common seemed to slip away between the sheets. They already had knowledge of a new spell to carry away with them, but the rumbling and hissing sounds of Draconic were… well, Max had the feeling that they were always going to remind them of Shattershield now.

The thought cut through their buoyancy for a moment as they got to their feet. The weather would turn, after all; it was strange to think that they had been desperately wanting the weather to improve yesterday, so that they would not be snowed in with Shattershield and what they had presumed to be unrequited attraction. Now, guilty though the thought was, they did not want the snowfall to end. Neither of them had said anything that pointed to anything other than the _physical_ attraction, after all.

They did not bother with a full bath or heated water to wash up again, room temperature more than good enough and their hair still wet from the morning. By the time that they returned, Shattershield was something like dressed again, and had straightened out the blankets on the bed enough for them to look reasonably presentable. Max would not lie, they could still smell sex in the room beneath the smell of the wood fire, but at least it _looked_ vaguely like a place where they spent any amount of time outside the confines of the bed.

Shattershield went to take the chair again, but Max waved for him to sit back on the bed so that they would not have to either sit on the table or be right across the room from him. He hesitated, then agreed, and Max set food to warm again before joining him on the bed’s soft surface.

They started off sitting almost at opposite ends, but before long Shattershield was gesturing them closer, holding their hands to his throat as he made certain sounds or guiding them to touch their own neck. The sounds of Draconic were not always easy to make with a human throat, but dragonborn and others who spoke it understood the closest approximations that could be made.

Max wasn’t sure how long it was before they drifted off-topic, Shattershield talking about his early days of trying to learn the language and the misheard phrases he had come out with along the way. All while still trying to adapt to having a dragonborn body at all, while each young paladin was expecting to keep a bucket of water at their bedside and the particularly accident-prone were given uncomfortable fireproof bedlinen.

The food was just as _tolerable_ as it had been before, the repeated heating and cooling having no effect even as it approached the end of its edible day. Shattershield spoke about the food of the Citadel, the special dishes produced for feast days and – also not surprising, as far as Max was concerned – the much stronger spices generally used.

They washed out the bowls and cauldron, glad that the drain in the wetroom gave them a better option than facing the cold beyond the front door of the cabin. Given the continued mournful sounds of the wind, it did not take any stretch of the imagination to know how the weather was still going. Shattershield topped up the fire again, and banked the one in the wetroom so that they would not have to worry about it again.

When they went to sit down again, Shattershield gestured them closer still, and with only a moment’s hesitation from the fluttering sensation in their stomach Max sat close against him, technically between his legs and leaning back against his right arm resting on his thigh. They kept their weight clear of his left leg, but sank into the reassuring heat of him instead.

He returned them to Draconic, more simple phrases that soon enough did turn into directions, points of the compass as well as left and right. Feeling emboldened by the encompassing warmth of him, Max toyed with the laces of his shirt and asked what words _he_ had been using, and whether he might be kind enough to translate some of _them_.

It flustered him again, and gods it was endearing; it was not even that he was blushing to give it away, but the way that he caught on his words and had to glance aside. All the same, he mumbled his way through the first couple of the words, then grew in confidence as he had to repeatedly correct Max’s pronunciation of them. Truth be told, it was not as if any of the words were more than suggestive on their own, though Shattershield certainly cleared his throat when Max finally landed on exactly the correct pronunciation of _yes_.

He taught them the words for _stop_ , for _don’t stop_ , for _please_ and, with a little more teasing in his tone, for _thank you_. When Max asked him how to say Captain in Draconic, he spluttered and stammered for so long that Max felt bad about laughing but could not help it. Carefully rearranging themselves around his leg, they knelt in front of him and kissed the top of his snout until he huffed, muttered the really quite pronounceable _vargus_ , and then added a vague warning about it not being an uncommon word around Dragon D’Or as he nuzzled against their sore shoulder again.

As tempting as the thought was to give him a word to remember them by, they knew that it would be inappropriate to do so. He had indicated that his name was a rare enough word for others to use.

Max had always been a fast learner, and soon could at least understand directions even if they struggled to make the sounds to reply. Used to the daily cycle of the bells, they were quite confident that they could feel the day sliding into evening by the time that they finally thought of how to introduce themselves.

Shattershield smiled, and pointed to his own chest. “ _Ya Vargus Shattershield_ ,” he said. He pointed them. “ _Wux_ … hmm. Draconic doesn’t really have a word for paladin. _Barb_ ,” he settled on, after a moment. _“Wux Barb_ _Williams_.” A gesture away from them both. “ _Irth_ Egbert… the Careless, I don’t need to get into derivational affixes right now.”

Max could not help looking impressed at his casual waving aside of grammatical terms that they had not encountered since they were still learning Celestial from a book rather than from speaking it to others or, increasingly common over time, simply letting it flow through with the magic into which they tapped. Then they caught hold of the words themselves, and blinked.

“Wait, a greeting is _wushzarath sathi_ but to say your name is just _ya_? I started with the wrong words in this language.” They tugged on the strings of his shirt for emphasis.

He was still wearing that gentle smile, though, as if he had left some of his sternness with his armour. “Such are different tongues. It does have its uses, though. You can shout directions at a troublemaking outsider to the city, and it is unlikely they will know what they mean.”

Now that, Max had to admit, sounded like it would be entertaining to see. “Are you telling me you’ve scared off outsiders with directions?”

“Oh no, I find it easier to speak very directly to them in Common,” said Shattershield, which Max could absolutely believe. “But when I was quite young, I saw _my_ Captain scare a whole group of… well, I think they tried to consider themselves adventurers, but they were markedly less successful than even Egbert and his friends…” He rumbled, pausing on the word. “A whole group of _individuals_ by reciting the menu from dinner at the Citadel the day before. I was baffled.”

The serious tone with which he said it was the last straw, and Max began giggling at the image of a younger Shattershield, perhaps not yet with all of his commanding presence, watching in confusion as his commanding officer shouted about food and a group with no idea what it meant quailed before them. They had to admit, an angry dragonborn firing any unknown words at them would probably have that effect.

“I guess it’s easier to list dinner than to make up inventive curses on the spot…” they offered.

Shattershield nodded. “That was exactly her explanation. It wouldn’t work on locals, of course, much of Mistmire knows a few words of Draconic and it probably spoils the effect to hear the word ‘soup’ in the middle of it all.”

“Unless they thought you were going to turn them into soup, I suppose.”

Chuckling, Shattershield ran his fingers through Max’s hair again, only to snag on a tangle and to cock his head to regard it. Max felt him gently teasing at it with his nails, but after a moment or two he shook his head.

“Hmm. I fear my nails are too blunt to be of assistance here.”

It served them right for not doing more than running their fingers through their hair after bathing, Max supposed. Or possibly for sleeping, nap though it may have been, before their hair was even dry in the first place. “I put the comb next to the bed,” they said, gesturing to where it was likely within Shattershield’s reach behind them. “Just let me…”

“I have it.” Shattershield leaned slightly across as he picked up the wooden comb and brought it over. He glanced at it in passing, turning it over in his hands. “The carving is good quality. Someone must have put work into this.”

“I’ll leave it here,” said Max. “Perhaps they’ll be glad to have it back.”

“I hope so.” He went as if to hand them the comb, then paused and glanced at their hair. “Ah…” he raised his hand, voice becoming more uncertain again. “May I?”

Max wasn’t certain that they didn’t blush at the offer, or perhaps just at the delicate way in which he asked. They nodded, not quite sure of the last time that someone had offered to brush or comb their hair for them, let alone the last time that they would have accepted. Certainly it was long before they had started growing it out in the last year or so. But when Shattershield seemed so taken with running his hands through it, it was not as if Max could very well bring themselves to refuse him, and sure enough his face softened back to that gentle smile as he reached up and began to tease his way through the curls.

There were certainly knots hidden away in there; Max could feel the teeth of the comb catch at them, but Shattershield’s touch was much gentler than Max sometimes was with their own hair, and at each snag he would draw back and then slowly and methodically work his way through it.

The silence was somewhere on the cusp of comfortable, and more than once Max wondered whether they should say something to break it. But Shattershield seemed content as well as focussed as he made his way back along Max’s scalp, so set upon his task that Max found themselves watching his fond, absorbed expression as he worked.

Perhaps they should not have agreed to this. They had not realised how intimate it would feel, his fingers gently brushing against their scalp as he worked, other hand cupping Max’s jaw with the tip of one claw just brushing back and forth, apparently unwittingly, beneath their ear. It made them want to sink back into his arms, to lose themselves in the heat of his body. Not even sexually; just to melt against him and speak of nothing as he worked, to feel the rise and fall of his breath that they could now see.

They found themselves eyeing the lines of his face, the intent look in his eyes and the smile, hard to see, just at the corner of his mouth. The line of his horns, sweeping back above the not-spines that, come to think of it, probably had a much simpler Draconic name than anything that Common would provide them with. But asking would mean interrupting his concentration, and that they could not bring themselves to do.

It was, at least in some ways, easier when they realised that they would have to turn around for him to reach the back of their hair. They turned within his lap, and Shattershield rumbled gratefully before his breathing settled back into that contented, purr-like sound that was as much a vibration as it was a noise.

Max closed their eyes, grateful that for a moment he could not see their expression. It felt painfully good to sit like this, in warm silence with Shattershield working his way tenderly – no, gently, they only had reason to call it gently – through their hair. But as the second night drew in, they knew that the snow would not last forever, and that sooner or later their paths would diverge again. That had felt more preferable before the hours of talking and teasing, never mind the hours in which they had fallen into bed.

Fallen. No, that made it sound too accidental, when Max might have tried at first to ignore their attraction but once they had acted on it had done so with absolute and deliberate intention. They could not speak for Shattershield, of course, and perhaps his words had not been so much testing the waters as trying to work out just what was in Max’s thoughts at all, but certainly he had acted with plenty of purpose since.

Both of his hands were in their hair by then, gently making a parting as they continued back, stroking up the back of their neck to ensure he had not missed anything. Max felt as exposed as they ever had while naked in front of him. It would have been inappropriate in those days they were travelling together, with the expectation of a funeral before them, to think of just how attracted to him they were. But it had not been inappropriate to think on how he had stood up to the council to try to give Egbert a funeral appropriate to the order, how he seemed to genuinely care not just for the paladins he currently oversaw but those whom Dragon D’Or had lost or set aside, how respect and a just care ran through his actions and his words.

Absurd. The attraction they had originally tried to conceal, now open between them; the admiration they had originally allowed themselves to indulge in, how hidden firmly away.

For a fleeting moment, they considered casting the Zone of Truth about themselves, but it did not prevent the withholding of facts, just the telling of lies. Instead, they wound their fingers tightly into the memorial shirt and breathed deeply in the hope that if they did so enough, it would give them at least some sense of relaxation.

Shattershield, at least, seemed to grow only less tense as he worked his way round to the last couple of curls that constantly fell into their eyes, then ran his hand carefully through their hair to brush it back from their face. “How did I do?” he asked quietly.

Their throat felt tight, but Max smiled. “ _Sukriya_ ,” they said carefully, the Draconic word of thanks.

He smiled further, until Max could see it right up in the shape of his eyes. “ _Nar_ _viraka_ ,” he replied, “ _vethparijan_.”

They suspected that they knew roughly what that meant, and pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist by way of a reply. It set off a wordless slide back into each other, not even that heated or purposeful, more gently roaming hands and mouths. Shattershield tossed the comb back onto the small table by the bed with a clatter, and he seemed to be taking care not to mess up Max’s hair again as he scooped up their wrist and, with his tongue and barely any touch of his teeth, lapped and nuzzled his way up the inside of their arm.

It was more gentle, more… yes, tender, this time it was the only word that Max could grant to it. Even they were not quite sure whether they were trying to map him out with their hands in case they awoke to good weather and their time in the cabin abruptly ended, though the thought certainly flickered in their mind.

Time slipped away into the slow touches, Shattershield’s hot hands tracing round their body as they stole kiss after kiss from his skin. The slow-stirring heat between their thighs did not even seem that important compared to the feeling of being engulfed in him. He even cupped the end of his snout against their lips, still a little less certain with his tongue as he kissed their mouth again. Max replied in kind, the sensations of the kiss a little strange but becoming more welcome, more _welcoming_ , as they sank into it.

They only broke apart as Max’s stomach growled again, and Shattershield laughed as Max ran their hand down their face in embarrassment. He cast his spell to create food and water again while Max began to prepare the fire to be left for the evening, and they once again sat on the table while eating to let him have the chair. Having once again finished before Max was done with their second bowl, he left one hand resting on their thigh as he talked about a summer he had spent in another city as part of a contingent of Dragon D’Or, helping with the establishment of a new paladin order there after the previous one had met with a fate that he carefully avoided but which had clearly been a tragic one.

Before long, they were discussing places that they had heard of but not seen; anywhere outside of G’eth, for both of them. It was a higher rank of Inspectors who followed up paladins who crossed the sea, higher than just access to steeds, and for all that Max had seen coastal towns they had never made it further than the shore. Shattershield watched with that same fond expression as they spoke, almost on a height with them where they sat with feet dangling.

The wind grew worse again, buffeting harder and louder than ever against the roof, and Shattershield let down the wall hanging across the door to the wet room and built up the fire before, by unspoken agreement, they returned to the bed. The blankets quickly grew warm about them, Shattershield lying down to rest his leg while Max sat beside him with his hand resting lightly on their hip. It started as teasing talk, about armour and weapons, and Shattershield’s heavier plate being in need of some smith’s attention when he returned. But before too long, Max’s fingers were tip-toeing beneath his shirt again, his thumb running back and forth along their hipbone, and by the time that he tugged them down towards him with a growl they could feel the heat in them flaring once again.

Again he rolled them to their back to bring his fingers and tongue to work upon them, bringing them gasping and writhing to the edge before, with a gritting of their teeth, they asked that he stop. He did so, but seemed confused, at least until Max slipped down between the blankets with him but left their right leg hooked high over his hip and round his back where he lay on his side. He caught his hand beneath their thigh as they leaned in to press their lips and teeth to his chest, and though Max did not say aloud that it was meant to be something of a compromise between their tendency to mount him and the trembling powerlessness they had felt in his arms, they had a feeling that he understood from the encouraging throaty sounds that he made.

There was less speed to them as they came together again, less fire, but that did nothing to prevent the overwhelming rush of his body against theirs, claws digging into their thighs on the gentle, deep thrusts that set sparks flying behind their eyes.

In the wake, they lay together and talked again, this time about nothing in particular. Max remembered to ask the word for the not-spines as they ran their fingers through them, and Shattershield was patient as he explained it was _eshrazani_ and coaxed them through pronouncing it. By the time that they had the knack, they were winding into his arms again as another wave of craving for him washed over them, fingers curling around the back of his neck as he made deep rugged sounds against them. This time, they did push him onto his back in the bed again, though both his soft chuckling and the eager motion of his body made it plain just how happy he was with that idea.

Gods, it was so easy. They were not even sure whether the conversation broke up the sex, or the sex broke up the conversation. Or perhaps it was simply that easy to fall back and forth from each other, Max whispering a word or two in Draconic all that it took for Shattershield to hiss between his teeth and tighten his hold on them.

The bruise that he left on their throat was certainly going to take some time to heal, besides. Max was not sure they would want to use magic to help that process along. For the time being, though, they put that thought out of their head, and put off worries about the future when the present remained so inviting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name Lowminster is not in canon, but is a generically sort of English town-ish name that I would not bat an eyelash at upon finding it on a map.
> 
> Complete sidenote, where I wrote "soup", I originally wrote "potato" but then got distracted by thinking of the Soup Dragon from the Clangers. So soup it became.
> 
> The Draconic is drawn largely from [two wonderful ](http://slushlush.com/2013/04/a-draconic-primer/)[posts](http://slushlush.com/2015/10/lonely-planet-vayemniri-or-more-draconic-for-you/) by Erin M Evans who writes Forgotten Realms novels:  
> \- _Frahsveri_ is not a canon term, but I did check out what canon Draconic there is! _frahr_ means 'breath', and _svern_ is a preposition meaning 'above' so I figured I could borrow from that root.  
> \- _Wushzarath sathi_ is canon! It is a casual or conversationl greeting.  
> \- 'Stop' would be _pok_  
>  \- 'Don't stop' would be _thric pok_ or _thrik pok_ depending on dialect  
> \- 'Thank you' is _sukriya_  
>  \- Unfortunately I cannot find the Draconic for 'please' anywhere online, so we'll just presume Shattershield was teaching them an actual word  
> \- _Vargus_ translates directly to captain. _Barb_ is a title more appropriately meaning knight or at least a sort of corporal position, but since Max chivvies around other paladins it felt appropriate. Also, the alternative for a standard soldier is _Baka_ , yes really, and I cannot bring myself to put that into a fic…  
> \- _Nar viraka_ means 'you're welcome'  
> \- _Vethparijan_ , on the other hand, is a canonically 100% romantic endearment even if it literally means ‘my little shield’ or ‘my buckler’. Quite a slip of the tongue from Shattershield, one could say, even if Max is totally unaware that it isn't part of the 'you're welcome' phrase.  
> \- _Eshrazani_ is a word that I have completely made up and just tried to make sound vaguely Draconic.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "AA, did you really end up writing an erotic novel in a month like some sort of demented D&D Nanowrimo latecomer?" Yes, yes I did.

The third day bought more heavy snow, more strong winds, and more time desperately comfortable in Shattershield’s arms. He taught Max more words in Draconic, still patient as they struggled with the sounds, and encouraged them to try again to reach out along the thread of magic they could feel stretching into the celestial other, to call forth their steed once again. Max suspected it was more to help them believe it was real than out of any real need to practise. In return, they laid their hands upon his thigh again, in a whirl of silver light and magic, and did their best with what they could find to make the food they had seem anything other than bland.

By afternoon, Shattershield had teased them into showing their fighting prowess – no armour, he said, and no real intent behind the blows, just a sign of what they could do. He had missed seeing them against the Mind Flayer, after all. Knowing full well that Shattershield could best them in any sort of fight – gods, that he could probably just hold them at arm’s length should he need to – Max eventually agreed to spar, then felt themselves go red when Shattershield pointed out, straight-faced, that he needed to find some other outlet for their apparently boundless energy.

They circled him, using their speed to their advantage, even as he made it seem effortless to knock aside the jabs of their shortsword with his own blade. The cabin was just about big enough for it, if they tucked the chair away and Max kept awareness of where the furniture and bundles of balloon were, but Shattershield made easy work of holding his ground and making deceptively fast and precise movements with his blade.

“Come on,” he said, as he rebuffed Max again. “Outthink me. How could you outdo me here?”

Max shrugged, gesturing with one shortsword. “Against the Mind Flayer, I would have been distracting it so that Corazón could get in a blow. He was… effective.”

“Allies,” said Shattershield. “Indeed. How else?”

“In a real fight,” said Max, stepping back a little further outside his range only to point to a small piece of brass which had come free from the rest of the pile, “I’d knock that beneath your feet.”

Shattershield glanced down, and grunted. “Yes, I would rather not meet with that at the moment. Anything else?”

Whether he was testing them, teasing them, or trying to find out more, Max did not know, but they had to admit that there was more fun to this sort of thing than to simply hitting straw sacks with real weapons, or other new paladins with wooden ones. They licked their lips, considering their options around the small room. To put their back to the sun would be a good advantage, but the fire was probably not so bright as to have a significant effect. The floor was solid and even, good for their footing but also for his. Although they supposed there was always…

In a blink, they opened up the flow of magic and let it ring into a single word of Celestial, pointing one shortsword straight at Shattershield. “ _Yield_!” they said, the sound ringing.

Whether it was surprise or the force of their own words, Max could not have said, but they felt the magic wrap around and into Shattershield and a moment later he had cast his sword to the ground and was raising his hands. He looked at them as if taken by surprise, then smiled ruefully and hung his head.

“I probably should have expected that.” He gestured down at the sword. “May I pick it up to sheathe it again?”

Max crossed the space between them in quick steps, lunging up to grab Shattershield’s shoulder with one shortsword held carefully away and rolling the other in their hand to place the hilt just below his ribs. “Got you,” they said.

Shattershield huffed, then responded with the lightest of nips to their shoulder which Max suspected would have been a kiss if he had lips to use for it. “Indeed,” he said.

They released him and stepped back as he bent to pick up his sword again. The sheath lay waiting on the table, and Max was glad to see that as he crossed to it he did not seem to limp. “Wasn’t sure whether anything like that would work against the Mind Flayer, though,” they admitted. “It was communicating telepathically, not in words.”

“Ah, I see. Well, it certainly worked on me, apparently,” he said, as he carefully sheathed his sword again. “Though if you will refrain from telling any of my order about that I would appreciate it. I’d rather not recruits think they can get out of their work by pointed use of spells.”

Max grinned. “Let them try. Then make the whole group do laps of the grounds for it. It’ll stop them soon enough.” They crossed as well, and set about stowing their own weapons. They had been almost compulsively cleaning and sharpening them on the way from Mistmire to find Egbert, just to give their hands something to do of an evening, and if the tension had not been so thoroughly broken with Shattershield might have found themselves doing the same now.

“Something tells me that you didn’t mind laps of the grounds so much as some of the others,” said Shattershield, giving them a sidelong glance. Max knew they did not need to edify that with an answer, and was about to turn back away when Shattershield scooped one arm around them and lifted them up bodily onto the table again.

They yelped and grabbed at his arm, only to find themselves perched on the edge of the wood as Shattershield held them easily in place and bent to nuzzle about their neck. His huffing breath beneath their ear made them smile despite all attempts to keep a serious tone.

“I don’t think that counts as resting.”

“You told me not to carry you,” he replied, with a couple of teasing flicks of his tongue. “Not to not put you on the table.”

This time it was Max who spluttered, especially as Shattershield stepped over to stand between their knees, reaching down rather than across to rumble against their shoulder. His hands stroked the outside of their thighs, and Max wondered for a moment whether they could have possibly been half as impressive with weapons in hand as he was, the work of his muscles visible through the single layer of his shirt and every action controlled and deliberate. But then they pressed the thought aside, and that of how it felt to have his tongue trailing down the skin of their neck again, as they took a deep breath and tried to better focus.

“It was still for the same reason,” they said. It came out breathless, and they forced themselves to a steadier breathing pattern, reaching up to put a hand on the side of his snout. “For the sake of your leg. Please, stop.”

He did, mouth coming free of their skin though they could still feel the huffs of his breath and the warmth of him so close against them. The effect of his touch lingered. “My apologies,” he said quietly, as his hands slackened their grip.

“No,” said Max, with a breathless, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m sorry to be the spoiler of fun, I… I like the sound of it,” they admitted. Shattershield made an ambiguous, wordless sound, the angle of his face such that Max could not see his expression. Max licked their lips and lowered their voice. “I very much like the sound of it. But I won’t risk your leg for it.”

Him lifting them up had been almost more than they could handle, besides; they were not sure what effect it would have upon them for him to follow through on _this_ idea. But they could offer him his choice of positions within the bed, they supposed, and they searched for the right words to make the offer as he muttered something gruffly against their shoulder, then nodded his head and began to draw upright again.

“I suppose that will have to wait for another time, then,” he said. He nodded away from the table. “Then would you rather…”

Max had frozen in place, eyes going wide as his words sank in, their still staring pose probably not giving a moment’s sign that their heart had begun racing in their chest.

Another time, he had said. As if he meant–

They stared, and Shattershield caught his words, with another wordless cough of a sound as he went to step away. “That is – my apologies again,” he said, voice returning to its stern, rough demeanour. “I make no presumption that–”

He was about to step out of their reach, and then had to lunge forward to catch hold of his wrist before he turned away altogether. It almost brought them stumbling off the table, and he whipped back to catch them by the arms and prevent it, coming back face-to-face with them again. Max could see the slight furrow between his brows, and with their mouth dry and their hands trembling slightly they had to fight for words for a moment before they were able to speak.

“Another time,” they said finally, breathlessly. Shattershield went to glance down and away. “I’d like,” Max blurted, and his head twitched upwards again. “I’d like that,” they said, more quietly but with the words coming out clearer. “For there to be… another time.”

“I was trying not to be presumptuous,” said Shattershield after a moment. He reached up and carefully touched Max’s cheek, so lightly that it was barely a touch at all. It made them feel like they were about to start trembling.

Max’s lips twitched towards a smile. “So was I,” they admitted, thrown back again to the moment kneeling before him, hands on his thigh, his thumb against their lower lip. Uncomfortable… “I thought it might be… circumstance, and nothing more.”

This time, his thumb was brushing against their cheekbone, and the heat of it was pooling more in their chest than in their gut. “It is in part circumstance,” Shattershield replied which, well, Max would grant that. “In that I would likely not have spoken otherwise. But I do not consider this – consider you,” he added, words with that carefully-chosen solidness once again, “to be anything I would wish to… part from.”

They leaned forwards where they sat, and flung their arms about his neck, pulling him down to rest their forehead against his shoulder and let out a shaky breath. Shattershield’s shoulders stiffened for a moment, then he caught on and wrapped his arms around them with a low rumble, enveloping them in his heat. “I couldn’t think how to ask,” they said, voice slightly muffled by the angle at which they had pressed themselves into him. “Or even if I wanted to ask. There’s been a lot happened these last few days, since we found out Egbert was alive really.”

He grunted. “Indeed. I feared I had overstepped when I offered to teach you an entire new language, when you rose so quickly. I was not sure how you thought of my words.

It took Max a moment to place it, and then they laughed sheepishly. “I just wasn’t sure I would concentrate if I didn’t put something on,” they admitted. Shattershield made a disappointed sound, but laughed in its wake. They ran one hand down to rest on his chest. “You have that effect on me.”

“I… generally do not leave Mistmire except on Order business,” said Shattershield. “But that does not mean that I cannot, in future.”

Max licked their lips, drawing back to look him in the eye again. “I can volunteer for the messages that go to Mistmire,” they replied. “The distance puts off some other paladins, but…”

“You will be… welcome there,” he said.

And… Max was not sure how it could be as simple as that. As one of them actually daring to speak, they supposed, even if the words were a little stilted. Their heart was still racing, fingers shaking against Shattershield’s chest as they looked over his expression in case there was something they had missed, something that had yet to catch them out. But Shattershield had spoken quite plainly, really, in most senses. Not quite all, but most, at least. Max supposed that it was only fair they find their words as well.

They pressed their fingertips to Shattershield’s scales through the material of his shirt, steadying themselves. “I’m glad,” they said. “I do need to say, though,” and there it was, the flicker of uncertainty in his expression, the smile fading, “just be clear. My feelings are not… just physical. If that’s all you want, then that’s fine,” they added quickly, “but I didn’t want to give the wrong impression.”

Shattershield glanced away, clearing his throat, and Max got the sensation that if he could blush, he would be doing so. “I appreciate your honesty,” he said. “Perhaps I should have been more clear in my words.” Max felt a tightness in their chest, nervousness spiking through them, as he looked them in the eye. “I – neither are mine. My feelings, purely physical.” He sighed, looking frustrated at himself, and as the shape of his words began to sink in Max gave a relieved smile. “I am not doing well at this,” he muttered.

“I get the idea,” said Max.

“Good.”

They cupped his jaw, feeling that giddy lightness swelling in them again. “So now some things are clearer, and I am still vetoing anything to do with the table,” they added, teasingly pointed words enough to make Shattershield stammer on some word or other again, “how about you tell me what else you might be considering doing?”

“I suppose it had better start with you on the bed,” he said.

“I think so.”

“I’ll work with that.” He leaned in, and drew his tongue all the way from their jaw up in front of their ear just to flick at their hairline. “Let’s get you over there.”

They lost most of the rest of the day to each other, evening blurring into night as their attention shifted back and forth between each other’s bodies and words. Max insisted on being the one to bank the fire this time around, and was glad the next morning when it was still enough for them to see by.

The weather had calmed enough for it to be worth checking outside, but it was still snowing heavily and the visibility would not be good enough for even Max on their own to head out. After breakfast, they returned to bed, wound into each other and abandoned the day to its whims. Max’s skin was littered with pink marks and small bruises, but they only urged Shattershield on, eager at the touch of his teeth or his claws. Mostly remaining on top of him still, when he was inside them, but sometimes sliding down beside him and far more willing to be positioned as he wished when it came to his mouth or to his hands. They still reminded him more than once about his leg, to his grumbling, but he conceded after trying to kneel and having to sit down again when pain stabbed down his leg and Max scrambled across to wrap their hands around it.

Max saw to washing the clothes that they were not wearing, though there was nothing that could be done for the damaged pieces of Shattershield’s armour. Even with what had been left in the cabin, the food was acceptable at best, which seemed to frustrate Shattershield more even though it was the nature of the spell. He grumbled about the much more flavoursome food that he would show Max when they were next able to visit Mistmire, and Max still felt almost tremulous at the certainty with which he spoke of some future but decided not to question the good fortune that had been laid out before them.

That night, they cried out his name with such abandon that they were glad, in the afterglow, that there were no neighbours to the cabin to consider. Shattershield said he felt beholden to point out that although the walls of the citadel were stone, they were not _that_ proofed against sound, and Max fell into embarrassed laughter at the careful reminder. Furthermore, he added, while there _were_ scrolls or wands capable of casting spells of silence, they were generally meant for the restraint of adversarial magic users and not for the keeping quiet of one’s rooms. By the time that he explained that various newer paladins had been caught out this way over the years, either in trying to hide a party from prying ears or because they had another person in their chambers and did not appreciate encouragement or advice from adjoining rooms, Max was helpless with laughter and had their face in their hands.

“Oh gods.” They wiped there eyes. “Perhaps we should take a small something of this place, to be able to teleport back to it…”

“I’m not quite sure what I would put on the paperwork to request that spell of teleportation,” said Shattershield gravely, and Max dissolved into giggling again. “As an officer, my room is… better appointed,” he added in a slightly more muted voice. “And does not adjoin other rooms in quite the same way, although it is not…” he coughed. “Wholly separate.”

A polite way of warning them that they might need to restrain themselves, Max supposed. Though the thought of his hand across their mouth did intrigue them. For now, they suggested that they make the use of what time they did have unfettered by neighbours, and then in a mood of mischief set about seeing just how much noise they could draw from Shattershield instead.

By the fifth day, the skies had cleared. The snow was deep and powdery, and would not make for the best footing, but the winds had all but stilled and there was nothing but blue sky to be seen around them.

It felt strange to report it to Shattershield with a sinking feeling in their chest. His expression faltered as well, where he sat still in bed with the firelight glimmering on his chest. He waved them back to the bed, to sit in his lap again while he ran the comb through their hair as, to Max’s bemusement but pleasure, he seemed fascinated with doing.

“I have started to suspect over time that the gnomes either did not tell us the best path down the mountain,” he said, “or exaggerated its ease so as to be rid of us.”

Well, Prudence _had_ briefly considered handing the gnomes over to the Mind Flayer, although her companions had at least seemed to think that a last resort. “Or more suited to gnomes than to… anyone else, especially with a hot air balloon,” put in Max.

He grunted. “Also possible. But the fact of the matter is that, with the injury I have received;” his voice still took on a grate of anger when he spoke about it, lip curling; “I may not be able to hike down the rest of the mountain. That said, I still have the Scroll of Teleportation which the order granted me to bring back the balloon, some money, and the seal of the order.”

Clearly, he had been giving this a lot more thought than Max had been willing to. Though they had not quite been aware of all the items at his disposal, they had certainly known about the scroll, and grimaced. “Perhaps we should have stuck with them, in case they met up with Dob again. He would have been able to cast it. Or at have a good chance of doing so.”

“With a spell of Blessing,” said Shattershield. He shook his head, then stopped and reached over to stroke Max’s arm. “What is done is done. And if we had followed them, I suspect we… would not have ended up here.”

Or would have ended up stuck in the cabin with all five of them, which was a frankly alarming thought. From the brief but intensely horrified expression that crossed Shattershield’s face, he had much the same realisation.

He cleared his throat quickly. “Be that as it may – even if I am not able to traverse the snow, I suspect that you might be. If you were to enter the town, deliver a letter with the seal of Dragon D’Or, stating that payment will be given to anyone with the ability to cast from a Scroll of Teleportation…”

“The climb back up the mountain should put off anyone not certain of their skill,” said Max. As little as they actually wanted to leave the cabin, it was a reasonable solution that Shattershield had outlined. If they at least waited until tomorrow, they supposed, they could make a proper farewell of it and actually make some sort of plan for how soon Max might be able to visit Mistmire, and how to find Shattershield other than loitering at the gates and waiting for him to return. All the same, their shoulders sank at the looming feeling of ending that was rising with today’s sun.

“Mm,” said Shattershield. “And while I wait for that individual to arrive, it would be…” he combed his nails through their hair, “untoward to leave an injured fellow paladin by themselves up a snowy mountain.”

Even in his dry tone, there was a faint lilt of awareness that he was hardly a damsel in distress and was in fact the one who could better provide for himself thanks to the magic that flowed through him. But Max smiled, looking up to see the very carefully straight face that he was keeping.

“You must be excellent at poker,” they said.

Shattershield snorted, and cracked a smile.

“So I go to the village,” Max concluded, “arrange for a message to be taken to the nearest town, most likely, unless the village itself is a reasonable size…” They were used to considering these sorts of logistics by now. “Buy some food that has more flavour to it,” they added, setting Shattershield laughing in turn, “and then head back here to… keep an eye on my wounded soldier.” They ran a hand teasingly along the underside of his jaw.

“Well, the food would be appreciated,” he admitted, “but the patronising is not so necessary.” Max could see the tiniest flicker of amusement behind his stern expression, though, almost hidden but not quite. “What do you say? A day’s journeying;” his hand ran down their thigh. “Use up some of that energy of yours.”

“I have missed it,” they said. It could not be said that either of them were lacking for exercise within the confines of the cabin, but it was hardly of the usual sort and did not at all work the same muscle groups. Once they got down to the lower stretches, Max suspected they might even be able to _run_. “I don’t know how far it will be – whether I’ll be back for nightfall tonight, or tomorrow.”

“Well, I assure you I will not do anything foolish like trap myself in the bathtub, which is the only likely hazard I can think of in this cabin,” he said, the latter half something more of a derisive mutter as he shifted where he sat and Max simply went along with the motion of him. “And then I… suppose we shall have to wait for our recovery.”

All of a sudden, things did not feel like an ending at all. Max let their smile widen, caught hold of Shattershield’s hand to kiss his knuckles, then untangled themselves from him to get to their feet. “Well. Sooner I get there, sooner I can be back.”

Shattershield shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, and caught them for a moment by the arm. “Come here, _vethparijan_ ,” he said, almost purring the word. He had not yet explained what it meant, but the way that he had used it was making the rough meaning pretty clear. Max smiled as they were tugged back to stand between his knees, one warm arm wrapping up their back.

He spoke words in Draconic, faster and more complex, and Max felt twinges of fire scatter across them as the faint bruises on their skin healed, small aches and pains fading away and languid warmth filling their body. A casting of a spell to cure wounds was, they had to admit, considerably less intense than Shattershield’s Laying on of Hands, and less startling as well.

He grunted. “There. Now you look less like you have fought an avalanche. Even if frankly,” he ran a thumb beneath their jaw, “I think you would win.”

“Something tells me it is the closest to underhand you’ve ever been to call me back again,” said Max, putting their hands on his upper arms. Shattershield began to look away, but they squeezed his muscles. “But frankly that is a compliment, as it would _not_ be wise to strand yourself up here. If something happens to me on the way down, do you have a backup?” they added, more seriously. They had faced a few close calls over the years, though mercifully the worst injury the had ever managed was a broken wrist which had hurt like a devil but had not stopped them from being able to keep moving.

“Nothing will happen,” he said gravely. “But if I do not hear from you in forty-eight hours, I will be casting magic to find a steed and sending it down to the village with a letter in its damn mouth. I… did consider that before suggesting that you go, actually,” he added, with a gentle scratch against their shoulderblades, “but I would not trust it to carry gold.”

“Or to buy food to bring back,” Max added.

“That was not my suggestion, though I welcome it.”

At least he was not offended by them having asked, Max had to admit, when others – even other paladins – had been shocked at the blithe manner in which Max asked what they would do if Max was unable to deliver their message for them. Shattershield at least took the suggestion as an unlikely but possible outcome, and had a suggestion better than waiting for… well, frankly, probably waiting for Egbert and his friends to realise that something was up and come looking.

Shattershield was still sitting, watching them with one of those expressions that was hard to read but which certainly included a smile. Then he seemed to catch himself, and cleared his throat. “Ah, the Order of Dragon D’Or always makes sure that its members have gold when travelling,” he said. “In your searches, did you find any candles?”

“A few stubs, actually,” said Max. “I thought they wouldn’t be of use at the time, but there are some.” They slipped out of his arms with only a little lingering reluctance, crossing to where they remembered glancing at the stubs of wax before moving straight on to the next box in line.

“I apologise for whatever else of your belongings was left at Suzette’s,” Shattershield added. “I can certainly see to it that you are recompensed for those.”

“I can… probably make it back there within a day,” said Max. “Once someone does arrive to read that scroll. It wasn’t too long that we were in the air, and I’m actually pretty sure we’re on the right side of the mountain for it, so I don’t need to cross it again. And I do know the spell to purify food and drink, so as long as I have a waterskin I’ll be fine.”

Shattershield’s expression grew slightly rueful, but he nodded. “Yes, that would make more sense than me whisking you away to Mistmire, wouldn’t it?” he said, reaching up to rub his brow with one hand. Max felt their cheeks grow hot again as they bent to dig up the bits of candle again.

They had to admit that the thought did appeal. To follow Shattershield back to his home and, well, deal with anything else after that. But with the structure of the Inspectors Guild there was bound to be a closer location where they could make their reports, and most of them had Sending Stones that they could use for emergency communications with Lowminster.

“First run that needs to be done there,” said Max, “I’ll claim it. Maybe you can show me around the city, rather than me standing on the walls waiting impatiently for the tide to get low enough to wade back again.”

“Yes, somehow I can see you doing that.”

There was no word of a lie to it. Max retrieved the ends of candles and returned to place them on the table, then turned to their clothes draped by the fire and tested them. Dry, and frankly smelling better from using the soft soap of the cabin than they were when using the usual Order laundry. As Shattershield set about writing out a letter, Max dressed fully for the first time in… well, some days, although that was to be fair as much to do with the cabin as it was to do with the bed inside it. They laced their short stay back up and changed back into the shirt that actually fit them, even retrieved their boots from where they had been near the door, and generally set about making themselves look fit to be seen as a paladin and messenger once again,

They were ready before Shattershield was, and could not help taking the opportunity to watch him, just for a moment, as he pored over the letter one more time before setting it down to dry. His expression was calm and intent, some distance from the person they had spent their days talking to, but a lot more distance from the one they had spent their nights with.

Well, and some chunks of their days as well on that side, to be fair, but even in their head the words had a better ring to them with a slightly less literal take.

“I’ll be back before too long,” they said, as he carefully folded the letter. He picked up the first of the candles and cupped one hand around it, controlling his breath against it so that the wax bubbled and dripped. Whether Dragon D’Or would be known or its seal specifically recognised in these parts, Max could not say, but the seals of paladin orders in general were widely respected. “Though I won’t be travelling at night. I couldn’t see clouds for a while around, so,” they shrugged, “unless we get a sharp turn I don’t think we’ll get clouds come back again.”

“But you won’t travel back in them if they do occur, yes, I understand,” said Shattershield. He pressed the seal firmly into the wax. “I will know better than to panic should you not return and the weather has turned poor, do not worry.”

“And if it remains good, I swear not to run off to holiday on a beach somewhere,” they added, and he chuckled but turned to stroke their cheek in that careful, tender way again. As if he had found himself remembering for a moment his considerable strength, and forgetting how Max did not at all fear it. It was from unpleasant, though, and made them feel almost indulgent as his thumb brushed a couple of times against their cheekbone.

Finally, he leaned in and nipped just below their ear, probably not hard enough to bruise or even mark and more the suggestion of a kiss once again. They kissed his jaw before he quite finished straightening up.

“And I will keep the cabin warm for you,” he replied. He pressed the letter into their hand, and before Max could let themselves get caught up in him all over again they turned to leave.

At the door, though, they paused, and looked round to see Shattershield watching them go. “And when we see Corazón again, he’s not getting that shirt back, refund or not.”

It took Shattershield a moment, but then he smiled and shook his head fondly, and with one more glance to print the image of him, unarmoured and unworried, into their minds Max opened the door to the chill, bright day outside.

Sure enough, the weather had changed, and things were looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shattershield absolutely biffed his roll against Command there. By level 9 he should have one stat maxed (I’m guessing strength) so his Charisma is probably a solid 16. So his Wisdom saving throw would have been at least +7 (+4 proficiency for being a level nine paladin, +3 from his Charisma going to Aura of Protection), against a DC from Max that is probably only a 14 (8 base +3 proficiency at level five, +3 if they started with Charisma 16 as makes sense for a paladin). But we've all had our critical ones.
> 
> (Because the Oxventure guys definitely know about fanfic and quite possibly read it, allow me to say just in case 1) I apologise for any aspersions cast upon Egbert's anatomy in the process of this fic, and 2) Andy Farrant you absolutely broke me for a month, but you also broke the writing block I've been fighting all year so thank you.)


End file.
